


Stars

by zolanhras



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: All are different, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Shorts, not connected
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2018-12-26 07:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 24,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12054630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zolanhras/pseuds/zolanhras
Summary: He wraps an arm around her shoulders, and she tilts her head forward, letting their foreheads touch.“I knew,” she whispers, voice hoarse, and it pains him. “Somehow, Solas. I knew you were coming. That I would be okay.”--a collection of da one-shots





	1. don't ask that of me... - solavellan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for "Don't ask me that..."
> 
> Solavellan
> 
> Warnings: Major Character Death

Some part of her had always known that her position would come with a price. She didn’t know how or when or who, but she knew it would come. So when she got injured, she was relieved.

Of course, she didn’t want to die, that wasn’t it at all. However, if it came down to choosing between her and the rest of her companions, she would choose herself every time. She thought, maybe, that this was fate’s way of granting her wish.

It wasn’t dramatic, strung out affair of getting injured itself. She was a warrior. It was quick, sloppy, maybe, and it was done.

It was a Free Man in the Emerald Graves. It was just a foot soldier, so it was her fault really for not seeing him. Her and her team were taking down one of their strongholds, when a whisper of a boy came up behind her and slid a sword in between her armor plates.

She didn’t have time to call out. The man she had been fighting’s eyes darted to the side, to her assailant. He nodded and she fell to her knees as the blade came swiftly out. The man in front of her was going to finish the job.

_Get away. Shelter. Need shelter. Away from fighting…_

She didn’t feel pain, not really. She knew that she’d been hurt, sure, but she didn’t have time to think or feel. All she knew was that she had to go.

But she couldn’t move. She was frozen, body immobilized as the man brought up his sword around her neck. Logically, she knew it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but it seemed as if the man was taking this time in getting the angle right.

Finally, he swung.

“ _NO!”_

A voice.

She knew that voice.

She liked that voice.

A lot.

The two men, including the one who stabbed her, and the one who has about to decapitate her, flew back in a flurry of magic and bristling air.

Finally, she could lie down, she could rest. How long had it been since she rested?

There hadn’t been that many left, so it took only moments for them to find her. She only knew by the voices.

“We can’t move her!”

“I cannot heal a wound that deep!”

“We’re miles away from camp!”

“Voices. So many voices. One I love. One that saved me. But there is blood. Too much blood. Soon, all I will be is blood.”

She could feel it leaking through her armor, running along the cracks in her plate.

“Cole,  _please.”_ Him. The voice she loved.

“Kid, kid, can you hear me?” Varric. Right above her. “Ellana! _”_

“Voices, voices. I can’t talk, I can’t speak. I am here. I am dying.”

“ _Solas?_ ” Varric.

“Vhenan—”

“Voices, so many voices. Just let me hear the one.”

They were all silent for a moment, and for a moment, she sank deeper into that rhythm that beat closer and closer to her now.

“Vhenan!”

Magic pricked and pulled at her skin, trying to repair, trying to fix a burning doll. It wasn’t possible. The fire had spread too far now.

A tightening on her arm, hair brushed from her cheek. She had to open her eyes. Just to see those eyes one more time.

“Vhenan,” the one sobbed. “ _Vhenan. Ir abelas.”_

“The one speaks. The one I love. Turn me over, ma lath. Let me see you once more.” Cole said.

Gently, ever so gently, he complied. She knew she would die sooner this way, she knew it would cause more damage, but she was beyond caring.

“Vhenan,” the one cried.

Something like sleep fought to keep her eyelids closed. Only sleep was a kind, old lady as this thing was a demon of desire. She would not let it win. Not yet.

Pointed ears, storm blue eyes washed by tears. Her love.

She smiled.

“Don’t go, vhenan,” he sobbed. “ _Please._ ”

She wanted to reach up and touch his cheek, but her fingers wouldn’t move. Her lips could barely form the effort.

“Don’t ask that of me, ma lath,” she managed. “Do not ask what I cannot do.”

He sobbed harder now, holding her hands till his knuckles turned white. That was okay, she couldn’t feel them.

“Ar lath ma.” she whispered.

 

Solas sat there, frozen, as Ellana closed her eyes. Varric just stood there, dumbly, not knowing what to do or what to say for once.

A hundred lines came to his mouth, all not seeming right, so he just stayed silent as the mage’s shoulders shook.

After a while, only one thought kept running through his mind. A small bit of advice he gave her when they first met.

_You might want to consider running at the first opportunity, I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going._

He chuckled humorlessly, and for the first time in while, Bianca felt like a weight on his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't even get me started on all the feels I have for Solavellan.


	2. worst nightmare - cullen x trev

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen/Mage!Trevelyan, prompt fill for "I can't believe this is happening, please wake up." 
> 
> SFW
> 
> Warnings: demon possession

Cullen awoke with a start.

His hands were fisted in the covers around him, having sat straight up as he awoke. He blinked his eyes a few times and slowly lay back down, heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t remember his dreams this time, thankfully, but he had obviously had seen something.

He turned his head to the left, cheek brushing against the pillow, and took in the face beside his.

Only half her face was visible, and he traced the lines with his eyes, calming himself in her familiar shape. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to brush her cheek, to trace the bridge of her nose to the tip, to rub her eyebrows, to hold her face in his hands.

His hand moved, but it stopped. If he touched her, would she fade away? Would she shatter, and would he wake up, like many dreams he had had before?

But no, he knew this wasn’t a dream. His heart was beating normally now.

He drew his hand up carefully from the covers, careful not to rustle the sheets too much. Aurelia was a light enough sleeper as it was. She woke nearly every time he did.

“I love you,” he murmured, gently using the back of his hand to rub her arm. Any more would wake her.

A shock rolled through him, and he retracted his touch like he’d been burned.

Magic.

Alarms ran through his head, years of templar training warning him of countless dangers. In reality, it was probably just a random surge. That happened sometimes while mages slept. Touching the Fade in their dreams wasn’t always clean.

Either way, it would be best to wake her. He remembered older mages doing the same in the Circle.

“Aurie,” he said, grasping her arm and shaking. “Aurie.”

“No,” she muttered, turning her head back and forth on the pillow. “ _No._ ”

He chucked for a moment, but he would feel better once she was fully awake.

“Aurelia.”

“ _NO!_ ”

A blast of energy sent him shooting off the bed, slamming against the opposite wall. He crashed hard, knocking the wind out of him, before he slid to the floor, wrapped up in the bed sheets.

He held his head in his hands, getting his bearings.

Aurelia.

He looked up towards the bed, but from the angle and the distance, he could only see so much, but he saw enough.

A dark green glow encapsulated her, levitating her slightly off the bed. The light crashed against her violently, it’s swirls mounting one attack over another.

She was being possessed.

_Maker, no._

He tore the sheets off, and hurried around the other side of the bed. Her face was contorted in concentration and pain. He fell to his knees.

_This can’t be happening. No, no, no, no, no._

He had stopped taking lyrium. There wasn’t anything he could do. It would only be a matter of moments now. It would win, or she would.

He knew he hadn’t deserved this happiness. She was too good, too pure for him. Now, this was his punishment for thinking that maybe, just maybe he could keep it.

“Please wake up,” he said. “Please, please, _please_.”

He recited a silent prayer to the Maker, but all the while, his hand itched to hold hers, to offer some sort of support, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything, but watch.

 _“_ Aurelia, please,” he whispered. “ _Come back to me._ ”

Seconds ticked by like hours.

The swirls got more aggressive, beating against her skin, making no marks, but always trying again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

She then fell promptly back onto the bed, hair dropping onto her face and around her head.

“Aurelia!” he said, getting to his feet and scanning for sign of a demon. He wouldn’t know until—

She heaved in a breath, and then sputtered at the hair that got in her mouth, moving it out of her face. Her eyes flicked around the room, panicked, getting her bearings, until she rested on him and her gaze softened.

“Cullen,” she said.

She had won. She was alright.

She had been sitting up to talk, but he sat down on the side of the bed and buried her in a hug before she could say anything more. She was okay.

She was okay.

He breathed in her scent, bunching up her hair in his hands like it was precious silk.

“I love you _,”_ she said, muffled through the hug.

“I love you, too.”

He held her like that for a while, through the subsequent sobs, until light peeked through the hole in the roof.

“I love you.” he said, separating and looking at her.

She smiled, tears still fresh.

“I love you, too.”


	3. you did WHAT? - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas does something stupid
> 
> *Lavellan Greatly Disapproves*

Ellana sat with her legs up on Solas’ desk, taking a break from her reading to gaze at her lover’s murals. She slowly turned her head, examining each in turn, smiling at the sections where a barely visible paint strokes were out of place. Places where she had accidentally splattered or he had let her practice. She smiled brighter at the place nearly at the ceiling where he had kept her work, and added his own addition, and accentuated her own ideas. If you didn’t know, it might’ve just seem another swirl in the pattern. But she knew.

“Absent for but a week, and I find my space occupied.” said a voice behind her.

Her smile deepened, and she sat down her book slowly, taking care to put in a bookmark, before setting it on the desk.

“Are you accusing me of trespassing?” she said, her head itching to turn. “You are in my hold, lethallin.”

“I see,” he said, footsteps growing louder. “Your hold, my space. Considering each, we are both in the wrong. It seems we are at an impasse.”

“I suppose we _must_ share the space, then.” she sighed, smirking. “Nothing to be done about it.”

He then turned the corner of her chair and she shrieked, but he simply kneeled down and pressed grinning lips into her own. Her momentary shock faded and she reached out and grabbed his collar, deepening the kiss, her longing leaking through.

A moment too soon, they parted, and she drew him into hug.

“Ar nuem sul ma, Solas,” she breathed in his ear. _I missed you, Solas._

“I ar ma.” he said back. _And I you._

They took a few more moments, and she took those desperately to take him in. He smelled like the road, of moss and a whisper of sweat.

Then, he stood up and offered his hand, which she took to stand up. He glanced for a moment at her book, ‘Tale of the Champion’. Varric’s account of the events of the Kirkwall rebellion. While it was an account of what happened… Well, it wasn’t dry.

“Walk with me, vhenan,” he said, nodding his head toward the door leading out of the main hold.

She smiled, and linked her arm through his. He hesitated for a moment, she knew he didn’t like public displays, but she looked up at him to sway his opinion.

They walked out the door, arm in arm.

It wasn’t long before they reached a location where they could talk comfortably, without much fear of being heard by Varric or really anyone else who had an ear to hear. Before long, Solas flicked his unused arm and a familiar tingle of magic ran down her spine. No one would be able to hear them now.

“Tell me of your journeys.” she asked, and although this was routine, her anticipation for his sightseeing never ceased.

He looked off into the distant mountains, and she saw worry lines crease on his ageless face. His eyes gained the dazy quality of someone who was trying to recall a distant memory, but not quite sure in what order the events took place.

“Something’s not right in the Fade.” he said. “It wasn’t the same this time.”

“What do you mean?”

His attention swiveled back to her, and the lines on his face changed.

“Do not worry, ma vhenan,” he said. “While I may have had to stay longer than I would’ve liked, I am perfectly whole.”

“How long did you stay?” she asked, still not satisfied.

“For the better part of two days.” he said, annoyed, as lightly as when Sera had stolen the labels off his paints.

“ _You did WHAT?_ ”

He blinked at her, head slanting at her outburst. She stared at him incredulously and her fingers dug into his arm.

“Ellana?” he said.

“Wha- How- _What?_ ” she sputtered. “Solas, how did you do it? How are you okay? Why aren’t you-

She exhaled shakily.

“You could’ve— and probably worse.”

His eyes widened, and when she finally managed another breath, he had enough sense to pull her into a hug.

“I was in minimal danger, ma vhenan,” he said, stroking her hair. “I— will not die so easily.”

Soon, they separated, no tears having actually being shed, so no puffy eyes to duck into the hold with. He held her sides of the face, index finger wrapping around the curve of her ears.

“I would not leave you like that.”

“I know.”

She sighed, and he released his grip on her as she leaned into his side. He was here.

He was safe.

“Now explain yourself, ma lath, before I nearly meet Mythal again.”

He chuckled, and wrapped his arm around her waist.

“Ma nuvenin.”


	4. shooting stars - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off the prompt, "Shooting Star, Make a Wish". No warnings apply.

She didn’t deal well with pain. She never had, but she never before had to deal with so much.

She had been shocked when he’d left the first time. A sad longing that had become all too familiar to her, a knife to her gut, was the last expression she saw on his features. Leliana had searched, but if he didn’t want to be found, she didn’t want to be the one to find him.

She had never loved someone like him before, in both meanings of the phrase. He was thoughtful, kind and creative, so different from the ones that had tried to win her affection in her old clan. He didn’t speak loud, but each word held weight. She could listen to him speak of his journey’s forever, lost in the worlds and memories he painted for her.

She had never loved so deeply before, either. She had always thought that the right man would come along, no need to rush things with someone who wasn’t right. It didn’t mean she had never fallen in love, but it seemed wrong to call the other times love now.  

So when he left a second time, she was left broken. She heard his voice, speaking a foreign language, but feeling like music to her heart. She rushed to where she could see him, only to find him changed. Still Solas, just… plus one. He spoke with a confidence she was used to, but it was laced with other things. Duty. Regret. Sacrifice.

He was going to destroy the world and she believed him. She searched within herself for some bitter emotion, but found nothing. He was here. There was still time.

“ _Var lath vir suledin_ ,” she cried, clutching her hand. The pained look that had never left his face intensified.

“I wish it could, vhenan,” he said, looking down, breaking eye contact.

Another course of energy surged through her. Every nerve was being branded with a hot poker then set sizzling into the water. She yelled, another twisted sound escaping her lips.

“My love,” he breathed, and leaned in close.

His gauntleted hand wrapped firmly around her unmarked one as he brought her up to his level. His other hand wrapped around her head. She didn’t need anymore guidance from there.

Their kiss was bittersweet. As he pressed into her, she deepened the kiss, asking, pleading him to stay. And for a moment, a flicker of a second, he gave in. Hope ran through her, bringing them from remembrance to passion. Their kiss lit alive.

Stay, vhenan, she wanted to say. Stay with her now, and she would love him as long as she breathed if he would just  _stay_.

He slowed for a moment, and she opened their eyes and him, the electric blue fading from his irises. They acknowledged something neither wanted to face. He gripped tighter on her hair, bringing her in close. She closed her eyes, letting the the hidden part of her heart hope, even as she knew what would come.

He broke away in a sudden motion, shuddering, and stood up. She tilted her head up to look him in the eyes. He didn’t meet hers.  

“I will never forget you,” he said, turning away.

Hands swaying at his side he walked away. She watched him go, one traitorous part of her hoping against hope that he would turn back.

He didn’t. He continued to the huge eluvian, stopping for a moment before the watery surface. She couldn’t see very well through the tears, but he could’ve turned back to look at her for a moment. He could’ve looked torn, hateful, but she would never know. She blinked, and he was gone.

She curled in on herself and found a wretched anger clawing through her chest. She wept, cursing her foolishness, her stupid false hope, before collapsing into despair.

Dorian found her first. She didn’t realize he was there until he sunk down into the cool water and hugged her. She cried into his shoulder, before remembering that soon he would be gone too.

She had forgotten about her arm. It bristled with new energy, but she found that the pain was beginning to disappear. Meanwhile, she found she had no feeling in her hand. She hugged him tight with the arm she did have, and kneeled there, vision swimming, eluvian still in sight. The surface glittered, serene and calm, unmoved by her emotion. If she focused, she could see bits of energy skittering across the surface. They flew across the glass, looking like shooting stars.

_“In the days of Arlathan, shooting stars were thought of as a sign,” he said, arm wrapped around her waist. It was a nice and warm against the wind that blew through the battlements at night. “One of torment and destruction from the heavens.”_

_They both gazed up into the sky, taking in the view._

_“Oh?” she said, looking over at him. “So, ancient elves were grim and fatalistic as well? You would’ve fit in nicely.”_

_Some indecipherable expression flicked across his face, darkening his eyes._

_“I think not,” he said, and pulled her closer, joy gone from his eyes._

_No, don’t brood, not tonight. She leaned in close._

_“How about you make a wish instead?” she said. Their lips were warm, barely touching. She shivered._

_He hesitated for a moment, but she pressed closer, and looked into his eyes. She knew, rather than actually saw he smiled, and it soon melted into a soft kiss._

_“What have I to wish for, vhenan?”_

She cried harder, and thought if all else proved false, the ancient elves may have been right about the stars.


	5. these moments - fenris x hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for some fluff between my Lara Hawke and the broody elf.

For Fenris, it wasn’t the little things. Not odd things authors described, like eyes crinkling when they would smile, or how their touch was soft and enduring. Both were nice in their way, but it wasn’t how Fenris had fallen in love.

Maker knows that he hadn’t fallen at first sight. To be honest, he was beginning to suspect the dwarf had recommended the romance novels as a joke, as they had no grasp on what it was like. Falling in love wasn’t nice, or pleasant, or any sort of embrace. It was terrifying.

Despite all his reasoning, she was kind. She was kind, always helping those in lesser circumstances, to hell with the brokenness of her own. She hid this well with her humor, of which he knew he was not the only one to see through. On more than one occasion he caught Varric looking at her with an odd sort of wistfulness in his eyes.

He wasn’t naive, however. She was stubborn, set in her ways to the point of being harmful. She took things too far, and had a fiery temper and while mad, could say terrible things.

He knew this. Analyzed it down to the careless comments she had made while drunk at the Hanged Man. He knew that he liked her. He was fairly certain she liked him, with the aforementioned careless comments made at the Hanged Man to consider. But he didn’t—He didn’t know how to do this. If he just had some guidance, or some memories… But no. He didn’t have those. Varric, perhaps… Maker, he would _not_ be asking the dwarf, even if it killed him.

So, he made it up as he went along. She grinned at him, and he tried his best to avoid her eyes. He did return the flattery, after a fashion, and he said it as meaningfully as he knew how, the words tasting foreign, but sweet. He found that the payoff of them was well worth the cacophony of emotions. Her eyes widened, her face colored, turning a shade of red in the cheeks, and she smiled. It was a different one from her many others, more contented, pleased. Bashful even. He let himself revel in it, and he found himself saying similar things when he found the opportunity.

So, yes, he supposed, there had been a moment where he had really taken to Hawke, but after looking back, he figured he had been taken long besides, just not realized it yet. The two danced, they came violently together and he broke them apart. They both changed, drifted away, even as friends. There was too much there, too much between them that needed to be said, but could not and that he couldn’t because…

Because he was a coward.

It was only after Varania had betrayed him, only after killing Danarius that he no longer cared. Whatever had been tying him to his past dissolved with his corpse and his memory of a family. Hate had been running thick through his veins as he murdered Danarius, but it soon slowed to a trickle, and he let his sword drop out of his hands and clatter onto the ground.

“I am alone.”

He hadn’t meant it as a plea. Merely a simple statement of fact. There were no chains to be broken, no ties to be recovered. His family, his one chance of gaining a sister had been broken with her betrayal.

“I am here, Fenris.”

Her normally loud voice lowered to something quiet, but insistent. It was merely a simple statement of fact. He turned, and saw her small form standing tall. A rebellious thing in his chest heaved at the sight, having been shushed for too long.

So, no, Fenris had not fallen in love like in the novels. At least unless these novels included a wildly masochistic audience, he doubted they would be enjoyable. He struggled awkwardly through six years to reach a goal which had been muddled and unclear as he went along. He grasped it, and then shattered it in his fear. He only had it now because, for some reason, Hawke loved him.

So, how had Fenris fallen in love? Simple. Blood stains on green robes. Dimples that were seen often. A tired sigh when taking off a chest plate. Raucous laughter during a good game of Wicked Grace. Emptied bottles of lyrium. A hand on his shoulder.

Most of these memories included a Hawke that was covered in grime, or blood, or most commonly, both. Her hair would be oily, and frizzed. She would have on none of the finery that distinguished her as the Champion of Kirkwall. Doing so much for so little.

He loved her best in these moments.

One particular evening, cleaning off their armor, Fenris paused, watching her as she rubbed dried blood off her chest plate. She looked at him questioningly as he refocused on her face. He just shook his head, walked towards her, taking the rag out of her hands and into his.

He leaned down and touched his forehead to hers and sighed.

“I am yours.”


	6. countless reasons - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solavellan
> 
> Warnings: None apply
> 
> As a side note, this is somewhat of an excerpt, drabble thing, borne out of a fic that I have in the works right now, so keep a look out for that if you like this!
> 
> Also a huge thanks to @batdarkladyvampir for editing this and cleaning up the edges!

Tonight they were in the gardens, just having begun to bloom as he’d left them, dashes of color dotting the walls and ground. A cool breeze from the mountains brought her the fragrance of the moon lilies and she felt a twinge of longing in her chest. 

A pulse reverberated through her, flooding her mind with faint images, dashing her previous thoughts. 

“Emma lath,” she said.

He did not answer. He rarely did. She turned and saw him sitting on one of the benches. He wore his elven form today, and he held a new bud of crystal grace between his fingers. He did not look at her.

“I passed a child on the street today. A little girl, daughter of a elven Laetan that had managed to claw his way into the Magisterium.” she said, not moving from her place, but creating a Fade image of the little girl skip between them. An abundance of curly hair, warm brown eyes, a slight blush on her dark skin. She was too small yet to hold her dad’s hand properly, so she grasped one finger. The girl swung their joined hands up and down, laughing with an unbridled joy that only a little one could know. 

“She will burn, Solas,” she said, letting the wisp disappear. “Another one you will burn.” 

He said nothing, just gripped the flower tighter, letting the silence grow long between them. 

That was her one for the night. There would be another tomorrow. She would have to look for a decent example, but that meant going out on the streets, and she didn’t know if it was safe yet. She would have to think of something. 

She walked over to another of the benches, gravel crunching deafeningly, and sat, making a cup of elfroot milk appear beside her. She took it and wrapped her hands around the metal to warm them. She took a sip, and found the taste as comforting as she remembered it to be. Exactly so. She let the warmth spread through her. 

“Your skill is increasing,” Solas said, picking the flower and twirling it between his fingers. 

She stopped, looking up at where he was, but he hadn’t moved.

“Elfroot milk. The hahrens would always bluster over the preparation, but my papae would always make a secret pot for us da’len.” She said, looking back into the mug.

“I was not speaking of the drink,” he said and appeared beside her in an eye blink, the bench long enough to give distance. 

_ Oh _ . 

“I had a diligent teacher,” she said, taking a last whiff of the milk and then making it return to nothing. “There are countless reasons, Solas. I  _ will _ convince you.” 

He shifted and rested elbows on his knees as he brushed the flower’s petals with his thumb. 

“I know you are trying.”

They sat in silence. It scraped at her insides, and she gazed at the vines climbing the stone, remembering days where she would come out here to find a sense of peace. 

“Ellana,” he said gently.

She turned and found him giving the flower to her. She took it, their fingertips touching clumsily as she grabbed the stem. She pretended not to notice, and inspected it, skimming the petals where he had and found letters there. It spelled her name.

“I do not believe I ever told you,” he said, watching her as she took in his gift. “Your name. It means: the spirited one, the Great Oak.”

She looked up at him and noticed how his shoulders slumped. She smiled brokenly, tears stinging her eyes. She kept them back.

She reached out a hand, gently holding his face, and he reached up to keep her hand there. She slid her hand back towards his neck and they leaned close, foreheads touching. 

“Vhenan,” she said, straining her throat. “It is only a matter of time.”

“I know,” he said.

She took a few moments, taking in the feel of his skin against hers, bracing herself for her next words.

“Come back to me.” 

He tilted into her, shut his eyes hard, pressing a kiss against the bridge of her nose. She pressed back— 

She sat up, heart beating quickly, as she gathered her bearings. She was in her room in Superius. It was dark, the only light being the moonlight that trickled faintly from the window. 

She clutched her sheets, getting a hold of herself. She still felt the whisper of his lips on her face. They no longer sung on her skin, like they once did. They burnt, hurting, as she remembered why.

She calmed herself, banishing any thoughts of the Fade and those who walked there. She sunk deep into her mushy pillows, burying herself deep into covers, breaths coming easier now. She turned her head to check the time, it was still late. 

All that was left was to wait for the light. 


	7. lassitude - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solavellan
> 
> No Warnings Apply

“I think I understand why you miss it.”

It was just a memory, of course, not the real thing. It could never be the real thing. The placement of the stars had been eroded by time, lost in millennia.

“No,” he said, shifting in armor. “You do not. Still, I am pleased you appreciate its beauty.”

There was little wind here, Solas’ fanciful descriptions proving mostly true. There were spires of crystal. There was a surreal mix of Fade and reality.

It was beautiful.

It was also… different than she expected. Not that she had some high-strung ideals or ideas in her head, but its utter presence before her, not just songs and stories shared around a nightly fire was overwhelming.

The city was joined to the earth and it wasn’t. Most of the buildings were made of a delicate looking white marble, but it all rested on foundations she could not make out. There were obvious sections differentiating Arlathan as a whole. It was all glistening clean, but it looked particularly brilliant near the center where nine domes surrounded a larger dome that overlooked the entire city.

They stood on a balcony of one of the taller spires nearing the outskirts. She turned around and walked over to the home whose balcony they stood.

Solas followed silently behind her as she stepped into the residence. It was sparsely decorated, furnished with slender wooden chairs and tables. In the corner of the room was a modest bed, big enough for two, the duvet folded crisply over the edges.

She turned around to see Solas’ face contorted in grief. His eyes had followed hers and settled on the bed for a moment before dropping to the floor.

“Did you live here?” she asked.

Her mind jumped to countless conclusions before she became fully aware of them herself. A shard twisted inside her heart as she grazed through them. The fact that he was who he was, an ancient elf, had had more implications than his plans for restoration. She wished…

Mythal, she was foolish.

“No,” he said. His voice warbled, and she turned her head to see him turn away from her. He looked around the rest of the room. “My parents did.”

She had been even more foolish that she first realized. It was so like her to jump to conclusions, and to things so self-concerning. This had nothing to do with her.

“Oh,” she said. She scrambled for something to fill the silence, something to steer his thoughts from the morbid. “Did you grow up here?”

He barked out a laugh, though it held none of the quiet joy she cherished. This was pain.

“No,” he said, turning around in a circle and looking at the whole room. “I never lived here. I visited only once. Mythal’s Wolf has many duties.”

“Mythal’s Wolf?”

He swallowed and turned his back to her and peered back over the balcony’s rails, to the city below.

Myth— She needed a new curse word.

“Come with me.”

He turned around and walked toward the door at the back of the room, opposite of the balcony. He paused and turned his head and she saw an undecipherable expression flicker across his face, but she followed behind him and he continued walking, opening the door to reveal an intricate spiral staircase.

He climbed the stairs, the glass substance that made it up bore his weight well. She tentatively stepped on the first step and slowly added the rest of her weight. She had already not been a fan of the height, but this?

Solas looked down from where he stood and tilted his head to the side before he nodded understandingly.

“June’s magic,” he said. “He crafted most of Arlathan’s spires. In any case, I wouldn’t be concerned about their strength.”

That’s right, they were in the Fade. She blushed furiously and hurried up the next steps and matched his pace.

“So, June built all the spires?” she asked.

“ _Crafted_ ,” he said. “June wouldn’t be bothered for such menial tasks. He laid the foundation and blueprints, while his apprentices completed most of the actual work.”

She looked up and saw several more flights. Where were they going? She would ask, but she got the distinct impression that he wouldn’t answer. At least she wasn’t getting tired.

“The Evanuris had apprentices?” she said.

He stepped more forcefully on the next steps, making a spike of fear rise in her stomach.

“That was their official title,” he said. “They each were marked with vallaslin.”

“Was there anyone who wasn’t?”

“The Evanuris only.”

They reached the top which she now noticed was open to the sky. How had she missed that?

“Everyone was…”

A slight cloud covered one of the moons and shadow was cast over much of city. With no moonlight, the darkness stretched, making the alleyways and streets look dead.

“Why do you want to bring this back?” she said.

This world, that had been no utopia before its fall, was certainly not going to be one if it returned. Solas, who had such little faith in organizations and governments, would revive one of the most tyrannous of civilizations? He wouldn’t reinstate the Evanuris, that much was clear, but what ruler would he place? Himself?

How many thousands of years would pass, the burdens of leadership heavy on his shoulders, before his soul withered and he let himself be taken by the opposition, happy to be free of this duty he had placed upon himself? What other alternative future would see him or his renewed Arlathan treated any better or last as long?

She blinked and caught the wisps of energy as they faded back into the air. She pursed her lips, looking to the floor before looking out onto the city. Solas had probably been able to decipher the bulk of what she had been thinking. This sharing of the Fade was all they had, but it could be problematic.

“I cannot answer that.”

She turned to look at him and saw the familiar slump of his shoulders, as if he was holding the weight of the world and he was determined to continue suffering.

She shook her head and lifted her head toward the sky. The constellations blurred together, and she found no solace in the specks of light.

“Vhenan…”

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me anything, Solas.”

They were both silent and Ellana exhaled, moving to sit down on the smooth surface of the roof.A beat followed before Solas followed suit, legs sprawled before him. He looked succinctly uncomfortable, but she didn’t comment.

“The People called the stars the names of their gods,” he said quietly, his head tilted toward the sky. “They were not always named so.”

Cursedly, her curiosity was peaked. She glanced up at the stars, and again noted their odd placement. She bit her cheek and said nothing.

He followed her gaze, lowered his head towards his hands, then spoke, his voice near a whisper.

“I spoke of a time before the Evanuris,” he said, making a slight fade image appear before them, bright and monotone. “The People were not always treatedas chattel.”

Spirits and elves conversed, while wisps, spirits of lesser form were scattered through the air. Great libraries opened to the air held countless tomes, in which spirits moved through adding to them without thought. Elves, tall in stature, walked with grace through eluvians leading them to a kaleidoscope of destinations, all beyond her imagination.

“That is what I want to bring back, Ellana,” he said and waved his hand and the energy faded into the air.

“When the cost outweighs the value, it is not worth the price.” she said, shaking her head. She took a breath and spoke before she could think better of it. She had thought of this analogy for a while. “Think of Alexius, Solas. Do not shake your head at me. You would not compare yourself to Corypheus, but at least hear me out. Alexius was so focused on saving his son, wonderful, kind Felix, a worthy goal in all respects, that he what? Destroyed the world in the process. When the end came for him, he had not realized that he had already lost his boy. The cost he paid had ravaged his spoils. The world sat in ruins around him and he raged against reality.

“Do not let that be you, vhenan,” she said, only now feeling the tears streaked across her face. “Do not—”

She put a hand to her mouth and sobbed. When arms tugged her close, she did not resist. She closed her eyes and rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, against the fine wolf’s pelt and wept. He said nothing, only stroking her hair.

A bitter anger roiled within her, the part of her that wanted nothing more than to destroy Fen’Harel, this god who would take her world, who hated the part that still loved him. Her soul rended, but, as she knew long before it ended, the part that still loved him won out. She cried harder in his arms and wanted every bit to leave as to stay.

She cried long into the deepness of the Fade, and fell out of his arms into the cold of the morning. She reached blindly across the tent for his bedroll, only to grab empty air.

 

_I continue to listen in, as you ordered. I wasn’t able to decipher much. I heard these words: glass, ’So June’ and ‘Do not’ ._

 

_However, both Wicker and I thought it prudent to include something you did not specifically dictate. We have both observed that The Mark is in rapidly deteriorating condition. If you request specifics, I will arrange a time to meet._

 

_I suggest immediate action to her wellbeing,_

 

_Cricket_


	8. restless; ill at ease - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan has a nightmare. 
> 
> Solavellan
> 
> Warnings: Graphic Descriptions of Death

“Andraste guide me, Maker take me to your side.”

She kept her eyes closed and hoped the sounds would dissolve into silence.

“You move and and we all die!”

Her hope was in vain. 

Dorian gripped her shoulder and she jolted to full consciousness. He pulled at her to come towards the amulet, but Ellana’s eyes were fixed on the scene playing out before her.

“No!”

An arrow had struck Leliana’s chest and she was sent staggering back. Ellana ripped free from Dorian’s hold on her and ran towards the demons ahead. She took her staff from her back, whipping it in front of her, killing the Venatori and evil creatures equally quick.

Quiet fell upon the hall as her last spell fired and the Venatori died. As soon as he fell, she ran and dropped to her knees before Leliana. Her hands hovered above the blood. The arrows still protruded from various places on her torso and she had gained more as Ellana fought.

“No, no, no…” she said, bringing green magic to her fingertips, spreading the glow along the length of the damage.

Leliana’s eyes flickered and she looked up at Ellana with a lucidity that startled her. Ellana spells blinked out and blood spread across Leliana’s torso.

“Can’t you see, Ellana?” she coughed, her words choked. “You  _stupid_  girl, you couldn’t have saved us.”

“Leliana—”

“There are no excuses here. You weren’t enough,” Leliana snarled, showing blood filled teeth. “What? Did you think so?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but faltered. She blinked and Varric’s corpse appeared standing beside her; His red lyrium haze burnt into her as he spoke.

“Do you believe anything I tell you,  _Hazelnut_?” he said. “Believe nothing. Look at me. This is your work.”

“Ellana.”

She flinched. She had never heard  _him_  say her name like that before, so full of bitter ire.

“Ellana, look at me,” he said, and she turned her head.

His face was unusually pale and his eyes, like Varric’s, burnt red. The scant torchlight bounced off his skin and gave him a dangerous look. She would’ve barely been able to handle the rest, but a dark hatred creased in his face. It took her back to the day when he strode forward, killing the mages that had tortured his friend. It was difficult to see then, directed at someone else. But now it drove into her, searching, devouring, disgusted.

“You think I could ever care for you?” he asked. “Look at me. Look! There is a reason I have not gone any farther than flattery.”

She stepped away and put her hands over her face, trying in vain to close out all else, like she had as a child during a particularly scary nightmare.

“What? Did you tire of me? Decide that I should die for spurning you?” Solas said. “Did you even try to save us?”

“I tried,” she said, balling her fists. “But you were already dying, there was a chance—”

“You couldn’t save us here, how long before we die again?” Leliana said, color draining from her face, eye sockets deepening. “How long before you make a decision that kills us in your world?”

She choked, not able to speak as her friends decayed around her. Leliana’s flesh rotted, turning a sickly white as her skin bloated. She scrambled back and watched Solas’ skin turn black, his blighted eyes shriveling in his skull. Varric toppled, worms eating his skin and jacket alike.

She was stuck to her place in the floor, shaking, unable to turn away as she saw her friends, her dearest friends,  _wither_.

It continued, their skin blackening completely. Then, all manner of creatures came to tear away bit of skin or organ until nothing was left but bone.

_Those are my friends!_

Rats scurried back into the cracks in the wall, a pair of vultures took off into the other hall, a fennec ambled away, blood staining its mouth.

She wanted to growl, scratch at the animals, if only to keep them from Solas and Leliana and Varric.

There was a blockage in her mouth though, preventing her from speaking, just as it prevented her from moving. She sat motionless as the last rat ran off, the last chunk of Varric’s rib muscle in its teeth.

A scream built in her throat, but it was stopped like all the other exclamations she had tried to force out. It was worse to watch, to be able to do nothing, not even to speak as they suffered, than to have caused it in the first place.

A breath of wind touched her cheek, making her shiver and sink back on her calves.

“Just let go,” Solas whispered.

She gasped, leaning away from the bones in front of her. They shuddered, lying on the ground and connected and made due where cartilage and tendons should be. The remains of their clothing and armor, shredded and torn by the animals, readjusted itself over the bones and lifted the skeletons with them. They stood above her, the skulls angled down where she sat.

“None will miss you,” Varric said, his jaw moving with his words. “We will be just fine without you. In fact, it might be easier without you screwing things up, getting us killed.”

“Let go, child,” Leliana said.

They each stepped closer, closing in on where she sat, again unable to move.

She trembled, tears stinging at the rim of her eyes.

“No, this isn’t real, this isn’t—”

“Ellana.”  

Solas. She stopped short and her eyes darted to his skeleton, but she knew it hadn’t come from that. This voice was richer, urgent, laced with concern.

“ _Ellana._ ”

“This isn’t real,” she said and stood up. The skeletons blurred.

But no, the skeletons continued and marched toward her faster as the room drew out of focus. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.

“This isn’t real.”

She closed her eyes, and opened them up. Solas hovered over her, his hand firmly gripping her shoulder. If he had hair, it would’ve been mussed. His clothes were rumpled and his eyes flashed, looking over her with a concern that shook her out of the last reaches of the Fade.   
“There was a disturbance in the Fade,” he said, his voice gravelly from sleep. “I did not desire to intrude, however… I believe you wished to be woken.”

The images of her dream clashed with her reality and she struggled to keep her thoughts in line.

“I, uh, yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

He opened his mouth as if to say more, but instead brought his hand back, and she pulled back and sat up. He turned to go, but she reached out and tugged on the arm of his tunic. He paused and looked back at her.

“Ma serannas,” she said, holding his eyes and took the moment to relish in their untainted blue.

He nodded his head and gave her a weary smile.

“Of course, lethallan,” he said, and turned to leave.

“Ah, Solas—”

Mythal, what was she doing? He turned back to look at her again, but his expression betrayed none of the impatience he must feel. She hesitated, but a rat scampered through her mind, its teeth filled with blood.

“Could you— I mean, could you stay here?” she said. Heat rose to her cheeks, and she looked to the ground. “I just— It’s fine if you don’t, I was just—”

It was like this sometimes, when they had a large encampment. There was a spare tent and the soldiers and scouts expected the Herald to remain separate. She couldn’t stand it.

“Ellana,” he said, cutting her short. “I will get my bedroll.”

She closed her mouth, and watched him disappear behind the tent flaps. She laid back, twisting her fingers between her hands as she waited. He returned soon with his blankets. He set up and slipped into his blankets, and she found peace in the rhythm of his breathing.

She drifted into a quiet place in the Fade, where no visions of death haunted her. She shifted through moments of forest and glade, full of birdsong and trickling streams.

She relished the cool grass beneath her feet and she matched her step with the paw prints that led the way. Some part of her whispered that this way was wrong, but how could a path in the forest be wrong?

Something flickered at the edges of her vision, but always farther away, always dodging out of sight. Hadn’t she been afraid of something? Should she be? She shook her head and continued on her path.

She watched squirrels scamper up trees, while she picked daisies for a necklace. She wandered over and sat against a great oak and stained her fingers green making a chain of flowers. She leaned her head against the bark and sighed.

She awoke the next morning, Solas still asleep, but obviously close to waking. She looked at his calm features for a beat, a soft glow settling in her stomach. The darkness haunted at the edges of that glow, but she banished it. She put her hair up in a tie and pushed the tent flap aside, the chill morning air crisp to her senses.

Solas exited soon after her, none awake yet, though they were soon joined by the others. Someone shared the bread and salted mutton, and everyone accepted a cup of tea except Solas. Varric cracked a joke, hair not even in its tail yet and they all laughed.

She breathed in through her nose and took a tentative sip of her tea. She watched as Varric patted Cole on the back, grin still tugging at his face, the boy obviously confused as to the nature of the wisecrack. Solas ate quietly and caught her eye as she looked them over. She gave him a reassuring smile and drifted her gaze over to Harding and the newest scout, who was fumbling trying to repeat the directions that Harding had given him.

They were fine. They, besides the poor scout, were happy.

This peace, such as it was, was fragile, prone to cracking. Yet, as she sat around the fire, mirth still coloring everyone’s faces and two kinds of warmth filling her belly, she couldn’t find it in herself worry.


	9. the unsaid - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solavellan
> 
> No Warnings Apply

Solas had become spoiled in the Inquisition. Whether it be the paints, the gardens or just Skyhold itself. He had let go. He let himself live in the little reality he built for himself, living how he wish he still could.

“Do not interfere with that caravan,” he said, motioning to the strategy table laid out before them.

It was splendorous and beautiful, much like his one at Skyhold, but it felt different. There was history here, true, but it was centuries old with dust. Skyhold held new memories, teeming with fresh images in his mind, including a spectre that visited him each night.

He let himself play at the illusion that he would swoop in and save her, as childish as that sounded. That way, he wouldn’t be responsible. That way, he knew he would be doing something right. Not this muddled mix of bad and worse that he chose between each day.

His new living quarters had weight, but they weren’t people. Really, it wasn’t people he missed. He missed her. He missed the simple pleasure of hearing her laugh at an unintentional joke, or just sit and talk about anything and nothing at all. To know that he never would—That he would be responsible—

No. He still saw her each night. There was still time.

He didn’t sleep very regularly, though he tried to sync with her schedule. Sleep had become elusive of late, his head laid heavy with every detail of his plan. When he did sleep, he saw her, listened to her speak, heard her voice, sometimes her accusations. He hardly ever spoke to her. What would he say?

As he drifted off to sleep that night, he thought of what he could say, never coming to a clear answer. It didn’t matter. He would see her, let that be enough.

She chose this time. She brought him to her clan, the aravels lying stoically on the long grass, where halla grazed close by. They were close to the sea, but the lapping of waves did nothing to stop the heat building in his chest.

What would he say, if he could?

He searched within himself, but couldn’t find the words. There was too much, too much history, too much she didn’t know, but should. He knew what they had, he knew what he wished could be. He knew that his heart would never forgive himself for what he planned.

She sat in the grass ahead of him, a handful of daisies in her lap, a halla nosing at her ear. Her light hair shone in the sunlight, though he stayed in the shade of the trees.

He willed her to know these things, not so much words as much as unnameable things that are never to be described. He wished her to know in her bones that he wished her no harm, that in another world, there was _so_ much that he wanted for them. So much that it sliced deep into the part of his soul she carried.

She turned, halla having pandered off, and met his eyes. Clear, but subdued.

“I know.”


	10. shirt - cullen x trev

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of: “Are you wearing my shirt?” 
> 
> No warnings apply

It was Dorian who mentioned the shirt, of course. Later she would berate him, be absolutely terrible and—

Varric laughed, disrupting her thoughts of revenge. He looked between Cullen and herself, laughing harder as they looked looked at him in unison.

Cullen cleared his throat and glared at the dwarf, then looked uneasily at her. Even after what they had said, even after what they had done, he still questioned. Before last night, they had decided on keeping it private, or as private as it could be after the messenger had interrupted them on the battlements.

It wasn’t for anyone else. It was for them.

“It’s no secret, Commander,” Leliana said, and a faint memory of the her expression whispered at the edges of her mind. Ah, she had forgotten, it was after the Wicked Grace game. It was a unique mix of delight and… No, just delight. “In fact they’re may have been a friendly bet.”

“W-what?” she finally said. A bet? There couldn’t— But as she glanced around the table she saw expressions of amusement and looks of ‘Really?’, mixed with a few sour expressions, namely Sera.

“It is a childish thing, Inquisitor,” Josephine said, pursing her lips.

“ _Yes_ , and it turns out I win eight sovereigns, thank you dearly,” Dorian said, shooting a pointed look at her.

“Thank you?” she stammered. This was a bad dream, like the ones she had of being naked in the Chantry.

Sera groaned, crossing her arms. “Aren’t you two supposed to be prudes? I lost half a friggin’ arm to Varric.”

Chatter erupted around the room, along with some grumbling about losing coin, but she was still in shock. She was almost angry, almost felt betrayed by this breach of what was hers and Cullen’s. Before she could make heads or tails of what to do, she saw Josephine at her and Cullen slightly smiling, before she glanced down at her reports. It was warm and genuine, much different than her air when she was with nobility. She was just genuinely happy for them.

In an instant, the room gained a different atmosphere. Instead of people gossiping, it was friends discussing friends. Not out of malice or fear or jealousy, just out of love. Love for for the two of them and their relationship. And maybe a little friendly competition.

An arm wrapped around her waist and she jumped, but it was Cullen. He looked down at her, asking what they should say. Just a glance, but it was _trust_. She knew what she would say. She started before she could stop herself.

“Sera, sorry I couldn’t wait, he’s just too handsome— And you are so very welcome, Dorian— and also, you owe me a drink,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’m going to go kiss this man, let’s meet some other time.”

With that, she turned and grabbed Cullen’s hand and leading him out of the war room. Hearty laughter ensued and voices followed, Bull and Sera calling crude suggestions and Varric something about ‘using that’.

They went through Josephine’s office and through the main hall, over the battlements until they reached his own office. As soon as the door closed, she rounded on him, and kissed him, as promised, soft and deep, though heeding none of Bull and Sera’s advice.

Maybe another time.


	11. i already know - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inspo from Like Real People Do by Hozier
> 
> no warnings apply

_I will not ask you where you came from/ I will not ask you and neither would you_

_Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips/We should just kiss like real people do_

It is after. Much after. She finds him in the field, looking out into the sunrise. He no longer wears his armor of gold or has his pelt over his shoulder. He is not that now.

She grabs her basket and tools and heads out into the yellow light, her hat shading her from the sun. She starts at the first row, and begins pulling weeds and watering the crop. She uses a little of her magic, though it still hurts. The sad plant straightens, getting back some of it’s life. It is comforting, to see that.

Halfway down the row he joins her noiselessly and she lets him, putting the basket between them and handing him gloves. After a few attempts at pulling the weeds, Solas sighs and begins instead to liven the plants before him.

“No!” she says, putting her hand on his arm. The weak green in his palms sputters out, and he looks to her, wince still in his cheeks. She drops his gaze, and takes a weed in hand. “Let me show you.”

She show how she handles it, pulling straight up. It takes him a few tries, but he catches on quick, and works in earnest.

They work in silence for the next hour until she leaves to get water. She fills the bucket, along two canteens besides and takes the bucket first out to the field. He is still working with dedication, almost fervent.

She leaves and brings back the two canteens. She has to clear her throat to get him to look up. He does, and says a quiet thanks and takes it from her hand, fingertips briefly touching.

They drink and then continue, breaking only for lunch. It is dusk when they stop, only half the field done. She wipes her hands off and stands, her bones protesting the long hours of work.

He stops as well, and looks up at her, no expression, just asking for the word. To leave.

To stay.

“Come,” she says, offering her hand.

He looks at it for a moment, hesitant, then takes it and rises. She picks up the basket at their feet and places it in the crook of her elbow and offers her hand. Gloved, but free.

He accepts it, and she leans into him as they walk back to her home. There are bare sounds of soft dirt underfoot and the last call of birds before dark that serenade their stroll. It is not as beautiful as it once might have been.

The growing darkness casts an ethereal glance over the expanse of land, the shadows playing tricks. Spirits of Malice prefer the dark, and hint at the edges of the woodland, but the moons are bright tonight and lend her enough light to guide her back.

They enter her home and she makes quick work of setting everything in place for a meal, small but enough to beset hunger before morning. He helps, chopping and stirring alongside her.

It doesn’t take long for them to eat and finish and it is full dark now. She put the dishes in the bucket and turn to face him.

He stands there and apparently waits for word again. To leave.

To stay.

“Stay with me.” she says, stepping forward.

The candlelight flickers across his face, and it is all uncertainty underneath.

“Only if you truly wish it,” he says.

Wish it? It was hard to tell now, what she knew, what she felt. It was clear once, a day in the Fade when she had taken a chance and kissed a man as elusive and mysterious as a Fade-spirit. But now? The confines of her heart had been broached and shattered, leaving her to search through what was left.

“Emma lath,  _vegara_ ,” she says, taking his hands in hers. She leans up and kisses his cheek, chaste and sweet, and looks back into his eyes. So open, uncertain now, but reflecting the same brokenness that she has inside.

“Ar ju’vegara.” he whispers. “Min melana, vis ma’nuven ra.”

“Ma’nuven ra.”

His lips meet hers soft and quiet, and the pieces of her come a little closer together, not whole yet, no. Far from it. But they shake, and she knows what he is.

“Vhenan,” she breathes and takes him by the hand, leading him to her room.

He is her heart, as she is his, even if they are broken. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vegara = come, Ar ju’vegara = I will come, ma’nuven ra = you/I wish it


	12. observations - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> solavellan from Leliana's pov, after solas wins and brings down the Fade 
> 
> warnings: major character death

Each member of the Inner Circle believed that they had a semblance of privacy, though each knew Leliana’s ways. She was huffed at by Dorian, avoided by Sera and grinned at by Varric. What was meant for the dark came into Leliana’s hand; The Game becoming ever more complex. 

None of the members were boring; in fact in most cases she learned more than she originally intended. If she had been forced to choose beforehand which of the Inner Circle would surprise her the most, she wouldn’t have chosen the elven apostate. 

Her best agents had been able to tell her precious little, though what she learned, Solas seemed to know. No one had heard of a elf matching his description in any corner of the North, from which he claimed to hail. Her agents reported less than nothing. It seemed that Solas had simply appeared from the ether. 

With that, she made it her mission to keep tabs as much as she could, while running the entire spy network for the Inquisition and everything that entailed. Luckily, so long as Solas was here, she could observe. 

Deuce did much of the actual recon, helping Adan in the infirmary to keep a close watch. Deuce moaned about the man, but the intel she received from the agent’s alert ears more than made the complaints worth it. 

“…He even likes his ale bland, miss! I can hardly stand him.” Deuce said, gesturing in his emphatic way. 

“Your read?”

The agent sighed, the lanky boy looking down at Leliana. Brown whiskers covered his faces, though some patches still lay sparse. She pursed her lips. It wasn’t as if he was doing anything dangerous, really. The worst of his troubles came from Adan’s breath. Even so, his bright eyes brought up a twinge of guilt.

“He’s weird. He stares off into nothing all the time, but he looks, erm, sad? That’s not the right word.” The boy struggled, his brow furrowing in concentration and Leliana waited. She had not chosen for him for his eloquence. “More like regret. Yeah, that’s it. Regret.” 

Leliana nodded, making a quick note in her journal. Deuce was uncommonly good at reading people, a skill she had first discovered when he picked Josephine’s pocket upon her arrival in Fereldan, when Leliana had been the obviously better-dressed of the two. It was after further inspection that she found that he had an eye for what he called ‘the feel of people’. In any case, it worked for them both. 

“Has he said anything of interest?” she asked. 

“He talks to the Herald more lately,” he said. “He talks about spirits and magic and the Veil. The Veil  _ a lot  _ actually, more about spirits, and a bit about elfy stuff— Also, those two, the Herald and him, are a bit more friendly than just friends, if you know what I mean.” 

“Yes, quite clear.”

“Yeah, you get that,” he said, chuckling nervously before clearing his throat. “Other than that, I don’t know what to tell you, milady. Regret, crush on Lady Herald, weirdo about magic. You probably could’ve gotten that yourself.” 

“Don’t undersell yourself,” she said, putting her journal down on her desk. “Thank you, Deuce.” 

He nodded and narrowly missed hitting his head on the poles of the tent. She let go of her breath and shook her head. 

She didn’t blame Deuce when Solas left. Sometimes these things couldn’t be seen in a person until they did it. Who she did blame was Solas, and contrary to what she had told Ellana, she had placed an alert among her agents. Ellana deserved closure, even if it was with a man such as him.

She blamed herself after the Exalted Council. That she had missed such a huge secret was inexcusable. And Ellana… People died frequently in her line of work. It was something you had to grow used to, but Ellana hadn’t ever been at risk. To see her mutilated and destroyed… 

As Divine she did everything in her power to stop Fen’harel, but there was only so much she could do. Even the meeting with the Black Divine, and consequent almost-war that followed, eventually resulting in their combined force had not been enough. Dorian and his group of magisters had united Tevinter. King Alistair, and the rest of Ferelden, declared war. Orlais, after sufficient deaths and political shows, pledged their support. In a few short years, Thedas was united, but dying quicker than ever. 

None of it matter in the end, really. The Veil was destroyed, resulting in more chaos than even the ancient god may have bargained for. Thousands were dead within minutes. Her only goal became manifest in killing  _ him _ .

Ellana agreed with her, but Leliana had no illusions as to what would happen when the moment came. That was why she went alone. 

It wasn’t easy. It probably wasn’t smart, but she was past the point of caring. She found that his defenses had been worn down, but still strong. She brought what was left of her squad, the mages and the magical experts, along with a few rogues and warriors. 

By the time they got within a half mile of him, she had already lost half of her crew. A quarter mile she lost several more, but she pushed on. 

When she saw him, her blood boiled, but she did not act. Even in such a state as she was now, she would not make such a waste of herself. No, she waited. 

She waited, waiting until her bones ached and her head lolled back. When she blinked open her eyes, she hoped she was witnessing a Fade imagining. But no, it was true. Ellana stood before the demon, no weapon in hand. Leliana watched as the scene played out, the two lovers moving through tragic steps as if practiced. 

Truth be told, she didn’t have a mind for the tragic any longer. Not for the shows Josephine would take her to or her own life. She only saw opportunity. 

Their dance brought them to a low din, each leaning close so Leliana couldn’t make out their words anymore. Ellana leaned in for a short, tearful kiss, when an arrow head dug into her breast. She gasped stepping back, but another had already torn into Solas’ back. He fell, and with a wave of him arm Leliana was tossed aside as a rag doll, her head hitting the ramparts. 

It had been the perfect opportunity. The moment had been the most disarmed the Dread Wolf had ever been. The magic on the two arrows was enough to kill an army, never mind a god. She waited for peace to flood through her body, but none came. Her vision began to fuzz.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ellana kneeling beside the beast, urgent words flowing from her lips. The monster lifted his fingers and stroked her tears away, blood streaking her cheeks. He may have said something more, but Ellana tilted towards him and wrapped her hand around his jaw and ear. Finally the beast slumped, his armor shifting, one of the arrow shafts cracking. 

Leliana sighed and closed her eyes. Sleep beckoned and Leliana no longer resisted. She finished her duty, and cared not when a familiar cry pierced the air. Sobs drowned out thoughts, but she could hear the Maker’s call. Warmth held her close and she let go.


	13. prism - general

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wisdom and Solas in uthenera, Wisdom has some questions
> 
> no warnings apply

Cold. He was cold. 

“I am only doing what is best for the People.”

Elgar’nan enjoyed using that phrase. All the while he destroyed and took what he pleased. He lavished in the spoils of an effortless hunt, his pride gorging on the fruits of others’ labor. 

Yellow eyes flashed and a year of indentured servitude skittered along the surface of his consciousness. Those days had been long and never without a whim of hers to be fulfilled. Andruil bathed in the blood of her kills and grinned. The blood stained his pale skin. 

More comfortable in the Dreaming than the Waking: Dirthamen embodied secrets. He wasn’t sure if it was just a summation of his time weighing lives against chances of lives or if he had always been that way. 

The rest flickered by in a haze too quick to grasp, but settling in his memory all the same. The Evanuris did not lie quietly. 

Wisdom walked through the door into his study. It’s wispy form settled near him. It already knew his thoughts, of course. It smiled sadly. 

“You are soon to wake, ” it said. “You must not think about what could’ve been.”

“How can I not?” he said and set down his charcoal. “In any case, isn’t analyzing your mistakes and learning where you can improve not wise?”

It hesitated. 

“Yes, that is wise,” it said. “However, you are not doing so. There is a difference between self-observations and recriminations, as you already know.” 

He sighed, leaning back into the plush of the chaise. Wisdom walked over to the far side of  the couch and hovered. 

“I am sorry, my friend,” he said.

“Do not place your self-recriminations on me,” it said gently. “You have no apologies to make.” 

He shook his head. “You’ve seen the world, Wisdom.” 

“Yes,” it said.

“And?” he said. “You find no fault with it? None at all?” 

Rage swirled outside the door, not quite having come to full existence. Solas took a breath, Wisdom waiting silently. These words had been spoken before, if in a different style, but he needed a sounding board,  _ someone _ , to bounce off lest he go mad. 

“Faults are no presage of my distaste,” it said. “Nothing is without fault. I wouldn’t be what I am if I were to expect otherwise.” 

“You understand my meaning.” 

“Yes,” it said. “That doesn’t mean I agree with your assessment.” 

He rubbed his hands over his head and sighed. His fingertips brushed cloth. 

“You haven’t much time,” Wisdom said, solidifying into the form of an elven woman. “I will ask you only once, falon.

This was new. It had never offered any questions. 

“Do you believe this wise?” 

Implications held by a thread in the air around them. The air crackled with the taut energy before it snapped. 

_ Yes, this is best for the People.  _ That  _ is _ what he believed. 

Wisdom closed her eyes and puffed out of form. 

Solas gasped. He blinked a few times, before finding he could move no muscle. Violet eyes along with a few pointed ears gathered around him, spells flowing from the parts of their soul that touched the Fade. Violet eyes spoke, but Solas was beyond hearing his words. Wisdom’s still rung in his ear.

_ Do you believe this wise? _

Screams bounced off the inside of his skull. The millennia of bloodshed, the mangled histories. The abuses of the People. 

_ Do you believe this wise? _

Felassan shook his shoulder, scattering his thoughts. 

“Pleasant rest, milord?” Felassan smirked. 

Solas raised an eyebrow. 

“Your wit will be your end, Felassan,” he said and sat up, holding a hand to his head. “What are our conditions?”

Felassan listed off agent numbers and possible bunkers where remaining People may have sheltered. He continued on, but Solas could only hold onto one thought. 

_ Do you believe this wise? _


	14. it will last - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crestwood and a love spirit
> 
> no warnings apply

She leaves. 

He takes a moment, and stares at the glassy pool, his reflection blurring then rippling. He walks over to the shade one of the dips in the cavern, and leans down on the mossy ground, not caring when he gets wet. 

He waits for sleep to take him, but it won’t. He shuts his eyes. Clenches them. But it refuses. It is hours or minutes, either is probable, until his eyes rest and he slips into the Fade. 

“Her reaction wouldn’t have been as you feared.”

He does not respond. 

“She is confused. She is barefaced and ashamed.”

“I know.” 

Love sidles next to him, and touches his forehead, sending a flood of images coursing through him. Simple moments, ones of deep conversation, of looking up to the stars, of gazing at her, trying to figure her out. 

He crumples, a choked sob escaping from his throat. Love wraps a tender arm around him, waiting for him to speak. 

“I was foolish,” he says quietly, sobs still clawing at his eyes. He holds them back for the moment, looking to Love. “ _ It _ was foolish.”

“Perhaps,” Love says. “But it was, it  _ is _ , and you cannot erase it.” 

“It only makes what I must do more difficult.” 

“Love is not a stumbling block, falon,” it says. “It helps.”

He breathes a laugh, but it has no humor, “I do not see how this helps.” 

“It does,” it says. “You just do not see it yet, but it will.” 

“I have caused her and myself pain, and likely more to come,” he says. “Is this how love should be?”

Love pauses, “Should be?” 

“Love should not inflict pain. My love will cause her nothing,  _ but _ pain.” 

“You misunderstand, ma falon,” it says. “Love is not always kind, nor is it always meant to last.” 

Solas is quiet, and lets himself sag into Love’s arms. A faint comfort pulses from her center, but it is not enough to combat his own grief. 

“It will last, Love,” he says. “It will last.”


	15. observations pt 2 - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan's point of view 
> 
> warnings: major character death

She says she will not kill him, and she means it. It is not a platitude in sympathy, or a thing of morals. She will not kill him. 

She is almost removed from her position. Almost killed for it, but she will not waver. In time, she shows her strategy and her devotion to her side. She loves him, but she will not let him do it. 

_ Because _ she loves him, she will not let him do it. 

It is not a quick fight, but one of years. Of pawns moving across a chessboard, sacrificed, and used for advantage. Of moves that defy the rules, and parried in the same hand. 

She loses friends. Loses family. Loses battles and loses hope. Her options are seeping out her fingers like sand. 

They are losing and it is clear. He doesn’t need much more to complete his task. She has no more cards, no more pawns.

It happens and everything breaks. He did it, and she didn’t stop him. She couldn’t stop him. All because she couldn’t kill him. His wake of destruction is on her shoulders.

The last thing to do is to kill him. Leliana is fervent, and she agrees. But she searches within herself for the hate, but cannot find it. When she thinks of killing him she— 

_ Can’t. _

It is not a simple thing, going to him. She searches out a way, and finds it, leaving a letter of notice to Cassandra. She would be furious, wouldn’t understand, perhaps lose faith in her, but Lavellan couldn’t find it in herself to summon any emotion at the thought. 

He is alone in the war room, brilliant armor almost blinding to her eyes. She knows he can sense her presence but she wavers. 

“Ma vhenan,” he says.

Simple. It was what she was. 

He turns and she sees his brokenness. It had always been there— she had always known it was there— but it now it was corporeal, weighing down the air around him and making his shoulders slump under the weight of it all. 

She takes a hesitant step forward and then another and then another. Until she can make out the light freckles on his cheeks. The creases around his eyes. 

“Oh,  _ vhenan _ ,” she sighs and reaches out to touch his cheek. He flinches away, and she retreats, but he grabs her hand as it goes, and grasps it, running an armored finger over the bare skin. It is cold, but she does not care for that now. 

But she has to acknowledge it. She couldn’t pretend. Couldn’t erase the years of turmoil and suffering and death. 

“Was it worth it?” she whispers. 

He looks at her. And his eyes. Oh, his  _ eyes _ . They hold the sorrow of nations, and it breaks her. 

“I knew what would come,” he says. “Perhaps not in its entirety… But I knew.” 

She shakes her head, tears that should probably be there not present. She leans forward and rests her head on the chill of his breastplate. He does not move. 

“I wish I hated you,” she whispers. “I want to, but I— I  _ tried—”  _

He moves his hand and brushes her hair and exhales shortly. 

“You truly should.” 

She moves from his chest and up to his face. In another world, she would find it funny that both of their faces would reflect each other. 

_ One last time. _

She leans up and put her hand to his face, a new scar under her fingers. Their lips barely meet, his rougher and weathered than she remembers, but familiar all the same. It almost hurts, the soft touch bringing back more than she cares to recall. 

She stands on her toes to bring her closer, only for Solas to stagger towards her, lips dragging across her face and him falling into her arms. 

“Solas!” she cries, searching for the source of the attack. She sees the protrusion of arrow heads and tail ends sprouting from his back and she knows. Leliana.

He heaves and a flicker of red hair and black clothes flies across the ramparts. She searches for the body for a moment, but Solas buckles, crashing to the floor. 

“ _ Vhenan _ ,” she says, bringing healing magic to her fingers and kneeling beside him. Solas reaches up to put her hands down and she looks at him with confusion. How could he not see? This was going to kill him. Why wasn’t he healing himself?

“Magic,” he coughs. “Arrows dipped— enchantment.” 

He coughs and blood reaches his lips, painting them a ominous red. She swallows, not knowing what to do as his eyelids flutter. 

“Ma vhenan--” she says, stroking his ear with a tinge of desperation. “Ir abelas. This is my fault.” 

His eyes are closed, but he grunts and opens them slowly. He smiles wanly and reaches a shaky hand to her cheek, wiping at it. 

Crying. It had been so long. 

“No,” he says quietly, voice rife with pain. “I should never have left such a burden at your feet.” 

He drops his hand, and brings it to his chest, wincing and she brings her forehead to his for a moment. When she backs away he is looking at her with a far away look in his eye. One she had seen too many times before.

“Ar lasa mala revas, vhenan.” 

He breathes out and stops. His eyes do not close, but they lose gleam. His lips are still open in farewell, hand still fallen from having brushed her cheek. 

“No... ” she says, but inside she knows. It mustn’t be spelled out. 

It is a long time before she leaves, dragged away by Solas’ men. They don’t know what to do with her. Before they can decide, she is taken back by Cassandra’s people. She is returns and is lauded as a hero for finally killing the Dread Wolf, teaming up with the Divine to do so, no less. Cassandra knows, but just as before, ages ago, she let the assumption stand. If Lavellan was a hero before, she is a legend now. It would be funny, in another world. 

Remembered for millennia as the woman who killed the Dread Wolf. 


	16. faded - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a short about healing and melancholy, after solas is redeemed
> 
> no warnings apply

She didn’t expect him to be whole again right away. She didn’t expect it at all, really. She certainly wasn’t herself.

“Hey,” she said. “Are— What are you doing?”

He started and dropped the knife in his haste. He shook his head.

“Carving,” he said and turned back to look at her. “Something for you.”

“Oh,” she said and stepped forward. “May I?”

“Of course.”

She took a seat to his right and inspected the wood in front of him. It was a deep brown, the heartwood as dark as the bark. The form was misshapen, but beginning to take a recognizable form.

“Shiral,” she breathed.

He nodded and straightened the carving blade in its place. Shiral had been her mount from the days of the Inquisition until the day she had been killed on one of the many missions Ellana had undertaken to stop Solas. She looked at him for permission to hold it. He nodded.

She reached out and stroked her curves, though parts were still rough. She reached under her belly and picked her up. The hart fit on her palm, even if off balance. Her legs had not been fully fleshed out yet and were still in the process of being refined. However, if she looked closely at the rest, she could see the beginnings of striped fur and majestic antlers. Her eyes were a warm brown, full of fear as she— she—

Her vision blurred, and she set down the animal gently into the pile of shavings.

“I apologize. It was not my place to create her likeness,” he said and began to sweep the shavings off the table.

She touched his arm and he stopped and looked at her.

“No,” she said. “It was kind.”

His eyes widened and he dropped her gaze.

“I’m… sorry.” He clenched the fist that held the shavings and bowed his head.

She nodded and took his free hand in hers. He grasped it weakly before strengthening his hold.

“I know.”

She would not shower him with false comforts. They had endured enough lies. Truth was all they had now.

She breathed in quietly, considering. She rubbed his hand with her thumb and spoke.

“If you stay, Solas,” she said carefully “It won’t be for your regret.”

He nodded quickly, but she continued. These words had been piling up in her mind for some time now. “It will be because you want to.”

Her eyes had been at their hands, but they found their way back. He stared at her intently. She bit the inside of her cheek and looked at him for a beat, before down again.

“I didn’t leave because I regretted my actions, Ellana,” he said. “I left because you didn’t deserve them.”

The phantom of her left arm twitched and she looked to him. There was no deception in his posture. None of the guarded, wary man that she had first known. She kept her gaze steady and steeled herself for her next words.

“If I judged you based on your actions, you would not be here,” she said.

Her words hung in the air as a judgement, as the fatal call she would sometimes make to the deserving. Always deserving. Solas looked at her with knowingness in his expression, and an understanding passed between them. But the words still had to be said.

“Then why am I here?” he whispered.

She searched within herself for an answer, and found none.


	17. dream a little dream of me - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the fade shows his heart's desires 
> 
> no warnings apply

“Careful, you’ll wake her.”

He smiled, looking in the swaddle of linens, resisting the urge to brush the babe’s rounded cheeks. Ellana smiled gently and used her available arm, while the other was holding the swaddle, to reach out, hold his jaw and kiss him. It was warm and sweet, like leaves falling into each other. He quickly kissed her on the cheek before settling onto the chaise and wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

Solas hummed, not longer holding himself back and gently rubbing his thumb along her cheeks. They were so soft. After a few strokes, Ellana reached over and took his hand, meeting his eyes and placing them over the girl’s own, not much larger than the pad of his thumb.

The small fingers wrapped around his pointer finger with unexpected strength. Children hadn’t been a focus of his youth, and they certainly hadn’t been after he woke from Uthenera. He had always had more important things to be doing, the People to save, Evanuris to fight. His heart ached, realizing how much he’d missed.

The girl yawned, releasing his finger and arching her back. Her eyes blinked open and revealed the warm, familiar brown her mother had. She clumsily rubbed her face and began to whimper. Ellana cooed, brushing the girl’s hands away from her face.

Ellana glanced back at him, the baby girl’s eyes fluttering closed and her mother opened her mouth a fraction before a wash of understanding crossed her face.

He touched his cheeks to find them wet. He breathed deeply, but his eyes never left the swaddle in Ellana’s arms.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he whispered, the girl’s eyelashes resting peacefully now.

Ellana pursed her lips and squeezed her eyes shut, bowing her head.

“I want this,” she whispered. “Just— This.”

“We have it, vhenan,” he said at the same volume, unable to keep the emotion from his voice. “It’s ours.”

She squeezed the babe tighter, bringing her up to her face, showering her in kisses. Muffled giggles erupted from the swaddles, but when Ellana pulled back her face was rife with grief. She took a breath and turned to look at him.

“This doesn’t have to be a dream, Solas,” she said, lip trembling. “It could be real.”

The need to get away, to distance himself surfaced, along with a slight twinge of intrusion. But what defense could he make? Had he not done the same thing?

He swallowed hard. Ellana tensed in his arms, no doubt preparing for his departure. The flicker of hope in her eyes was slowly being deprived of air. Before it could fully be extinguished, she looked back at the baby.

“I would name her Naya,” she said, stroking the hair on the girl’s forehead with care. “After my sister.”

Naya hummed and grabbed at the linens. The ears looked just like his.

“Perfect,” he said.

The pair looked at each other and Ellana’s last reserve of hope drained away. Solas watched as the light faded from her face. He had to unwrench himself from her, his every muscle begging to stay.

“You know what I must do,” he said and stood up, words like cotton in his mouth.

She nodded mutely, tears falling from her cheeks and onto the swaddling cloth were Naya slept. Ellana rocked back and forth and begun to sing under her breath.

_Never fear, little one_

Solas looked at the ground, but couldn’t help but listen. Her voice was exactly as soothing as he had recalled many times. He backed away slowly, her song calling to him even as he stepped away.

_Wherever you shall go, follow my voice_

He turned around and closed his eyes. He had to clear his mind.

Naya cried and disrupted his thoughts. His shoulders slumped, but his body knew the motions and carried on without him.

He focused on the Fade around himself, making sure only he was leaving, so Ellana could still dream. The layers of the Fade crashed against him like the undertow of the sea, but it melted off him. He had no care for its depth today.

He blinked to find himself cold in his bedsheets. He lay there for a while and heard a rhythm repeat in his ears. It was sung in a peaceful, sweet melody, but he found no joy in its harmony. Sad brown eyes haunted the dark of his mind.

_I will call you home_

_I will call you home_


	18. lost and broke - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas spies on Lavellan, then Lavellan chases Solas
> 
> No warnings apply
> 
> Recommended Listening: Burning House by Cam; Listen here: https://youtu.be/uyGSe76rAJc?t=9s

_Things have always been… easier for me in the Fade._

That was his constant excuse. He wouldn’t deny it, not privately, to himself. It is true, he is freer there, more than he should be, but it did not excuse any of his more impulsive actions whilst there.

He comes to her regularly. She knows it. Even without the Anchor, her spirit is a beacon to his with it’s familiar warmth. He does his best to keep her unaware of his presence at first, left in the dark about his reservations and his fears, but she is much too intelligent for that. It is mere months before he is discovered, and chased.

Anger and duty was the most obvious impetus for it, the fire in her stride another piece of evidence that chipped away at his hopes.

His sick, twisted hopes.

Over time her stride turns to a walk and finally to nothing at all. He finds her sitting, underneath a beautiful, mature Mother tree. Her eyes are closed and she breathes quietly, the pattern ever so slightly off as he arrives.

“And the wolf arrives to finally finish his kill,” she murmurs. “How goes the hunt, Fen’Harel?”

Her words, though barbed, are honeyed. He can’t help but take another step forward, and she does not move. The last sounds he had heard from her had been shouts and rage. It almost lets him believe—

But her words still stand and once he has gotten over the initial shock of hearing them, he realizes that he may have preferred the shouts. But words stick in his throat, leaving him when they, most of all, should come. Her eyes open, and she checks around her quickly until her eyes rest on him.

He does not come as The Dread Wolf for her. No, he has never come to her like that, though he knew, one day, he would. He wears the skin he always had around her now. A simple black wolf.

“What do you _want_?” she demands.

He says nothing and takes another tentative step forward. She stills, but does not stop him. He takes another and one more lands him at the base of the tree. She is still a short distance away, but not far. A mile for lovers.

He lays down in the grass and puts his head on his paws and looks up at her. She stares for a moment before returning to rest her head on the trunk.

“Why?” she says.

It’s difficult to speak in this form, but not impossible. That’s not what keeps him from responding.

“You owe me this much,” she says, not unkind. “I need to know why— Why you still come.”

He lifts his head to see her curled up in a ball, head on her knees. Her head is turned away from him, but he can still see the trail of a tear down her closest cheek. He holds back an instinctual whine, and stands up to be in front of her.

“I never lied to you,” he says, his voice, he knows, only an echo of what she would remember. It was much more gravely and rough. Not fit for her ears.

She looks up at him, surprise coloring her features, before it melts into realization. She groans, looking almost ready to strangle him, but it is all too soon tainted by sorrow.

A pair of arms wrap around his neck and he freezes— But it is _her_ , and she is warm and kind and familiar. Before long, he is not a wolf, but himself— Solas— in her arms and has his own arms wrapped tightly around her frame.

He stays there until morning breaks and she begins to falter in and out of the dream.

“I don’t want to leave,” she says, grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

He plants a kiss to her temple.

“Neither do I,” he says and squeezes her tight, then straightens. “Now, go. We are both needed elsewhere.”

She looks at him and clenches her jaw.

“I will find a way,” she says, and sinks out of the Fade.

He is alone now, and he smooths his hand over the flattened grass where she had laid.

His arm begins to throb, and he can feel sheets on his body. It won’t be long now. Before he has to continue, _become_ —

“Please hurry,” he whispers.


	19. jealous - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's be honest -- This is 90% solavellan at this point. 
> 
> Prompt: "Jealous? I'm not jealous!" 
> 
> No warnings apply

“He needs more bandages,” he said. “There may be more with the west camp.”

The surgeon nodded and ran out of the tent. The man beside him groaned, though Solas had done his best to ease his suffering. There was no surviving his wounds. Perhaps if he was stronger, if his magic—

Then he wouldn’t be even be here, healing humans in the aftermath of his own foolish mistake.

He finished and did what he could for the man before moving onto the next patient. There were so many. There were only a handful of healers, and those that could help were already running low on energy. There were too many burn marks and not enough blankets.

He moved onto the next patient and the next, and the next, his hands knowing what to do. He needed this right now, needed to be busy, not to think. Without the Herald, his plans would be dust.

Caught up in his task, he didn’t notice being called until someone tapped on his shoulder.

“The Herald—She’s back. You’re needed,” the runner said. “The Co—”

He took off out of the tent too quickly to merit a reply. He searched the snowy landscape and soon spotted a party returning from the top of the hill. The Commander’s fur made him easy to pick out, and Solas soon saw what he was carrying.

He looked at the nearest aid and relayed what he needed, before taking a tent and setting up his workspace. The aid returned with some of the supplies that he needed, but it would have to do. He had been through worse.

Cullen trudged into the tent, saw Solas, and gently set Naya on the cot.

“Chill has set in well,” he said, putting his hand on her forehead. “She needs to be warm, and quickly.”

Cullen withdrew his hands after a beat too long and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’ll do what I can,” Solas said, and placed two fingers of each hand on her neck.

Cullen’s hand twitched toward the cot, but he abruptly nodded and walked out of tent.

It was easy to spot the signs of love in the Commander’s gaze. Or adoration— Infatuation. Certainly more than simple respect.

And what of it? Just because she had shown interest, didn’t entitle him to any special claim on her attentions. It certainly didn’t mean he should feel any at all annoyed at Cullen’s obvious manner and light-hearted at Naya’s obliviousness. It certainly didn’t mean he smirked when Naya said Cullen reminded her of her younger brother. It certainly didn’t mean that he wished that Cullen was more often out on recruitment campaigns.

It certainly didn’t mean he was _jealous_.

Naya murmured something indecipherable and the Mark flared. Her whole body tensed and she clenched her fist, but the light poured out from her fingers.

He moved to dampen the burst, and moved his hands from her neck to her hand. He closed his eyes and absorbed the excess magic. He inhaled sharply, everything in focus for a moment until the majority of it diffused.

Naya sighed quietly and wrapped her hand around his own. His breath caught. They were sure and calloused around his own, and it seemed so right, his longer fingers and her smaller and finer ones, fitting like a jigsaw. He squeezed back for a moment, before jumping and checking the area around him for anyone watching. He slipped out of the grip and into the air than seemed colder than before.

Mother Giselle was hurrying over to the lean-to, heavy skirts not having fared well with the dirt and snow. Solas pulled blankets up to Naya’s chin, careful to tuck in her hands.

“The Herald will survive this,” he said to a huffing Mother Giselle. “Tend to her. She should be as anyone recovering from the cold.”

The Revered Mother nodded, and took his seat near the cot. She searched her person, and pulled out a handkerchief and wiped Naya’s brow.

He slipped away, the lack of mana making his eyelids droop. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to sleep and regain some strength.

He had wandered through the bustling camp and into the less populated areas outside. Here there was some peace, a soft quiet as the last snowflakes fell on the alcove they were in.

There were not enough cots, so he found one of the supply tents and leaned against some packages of grain that they were able to salvage. He flicked his hand to provide some small heat and in less than a moment he had drifted into the Fade.

“You are jealous.”

Him? He was not jealous. He couldn’t be jealous.

“The Herald and I can never become anything more than what we are,” he said, but he knew his spirit betrayed him.

Even thinking of her brought memories to the surface of his mind, made all the more vivid with the intensity of his emotions. Little memories flickered by, glances and too-long looks, until more substantial times emerged.

_“Indomitable focus?” she breathed._

_“Presumably,” he replied, the words flowing as naturally as he breathed, not daring to stop himself. “I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine that the sight would be—”_

_Snow landed on her halo of hair, the bright light shining to brighten her features as would be observed in a portrait. He could recall the look of concentration that hardened the lines of her face while she struggled with the familiar pull across realms. The passion, the fervor that was required, the innate ability to reach across to something that was both known and alien— caressing and demanding—_

_“—fascinating.”_

The memory fizzled back into his consciousness and he saw Wisdom smile contentedly. Knowingly.

The high of the past moment was still bubbling in his chest, and he knew distantly that it should never work. That these echoes that he was surrounded by couldn’t be more than that— It meant too much for so many and so much of what he was planning, and it just couldn’t—

He faltered into the waking world and into the cold, finding a sight that he had not conceived in even his most outlandish outcomes, he had come to a realization.

She stared out into the crowd of humans, singing a song whose origin was long since past remembrance for them. She met his eyes across the distance, confused and slightly frightened. Just like a much younger man had been so many millennia ago.

He skirted along the outside the group of humans as they dispersed, striding towards her and the news he could bring her.

“A word?” he said.

She jumped, but her gaze softened as it landed on him and she nodded, following close as he lead her.

She was more than an echo, and by the tired edges of a smile on her face as she looked at him, jealousy seemed a far away thing.

Equal parts dread and ecstasy filled him, and he didn’t know if he would be able to keep himself away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I don't think I've mentioned it, but I do have a Tumblr. You can go check me out over there--same name-- where I post my work and some updates about various projects, if you want a little more info. It's a bit of a mess, but it's mine. :)


	20. kid; kindred - general

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> varric and cole have a moment
> 
> no warnings apply

Varric had never been good with kids. It surprised those who knew him, though there wasn’t often a time when he was around them. He had usually stuck to pubs and dark alleys and darker towns. When he ran into children there… One didn’t have to be good with children to do what was needed then.

“Loud. So loud,” Cole said, beside him, hanging his legs precariously off the side of the battlements. Varric had long since given up getting him down from there. “You don’t have to be loud around me.”

Varric laughed once, just a breath of air, then looked down at his hands. They were calloused and tough from firing Bianca. He had always thought, one day—

He moved his hand in a slight motion from his leg and closed his eyes, imaging a smaller, finer hand in his, maybe two or three, dragging his to some exciting place. He could’ve shown them the nooks in Hawke’s mansion where they could hide while they were trying on Hawke’s fancy clothes. He could’ve taken them sailing with Isabela, showing them how the waves crashed against one another and how to steal from Isabela’s plume. He could’ve—

A hand slid into his, slender and bony, but warm. Varric jumped, startled out of his thoughts. Cole smiled sadly at him.

“If you want, these can still come,” Cole said, quietly, hand limp in the hold.

One side of his lips quirked up and Varric shifted out of the hand hold and rubbed his face. What had he been doing? Getting emotional right in front of the kid? Maker knew Cole didn’t need more of that.

“No, I think I’ve passed those days,” he said. “I’m good with where I’m at now.”

The lie sat uncomfortably between them, and Cole didn’t speak for a long moment.

“I can be them, or one of them,” he said, his fingers tapping on the stone. “If you want. You can show me— how to steal feathers?”

Varric laughed, the boisterous sound bouncing off the walls. Below in the courtyard, a stumbling man raised his mug in their general direction, yelling a cheers. It soon died, and Varric glanced over as Cole, face hidden beneath the unwieldy hat.

“Sounds great, kid,” he said, and he meant it.

Cole glanced up to meet Varric’s gaze, eyes widening. Then, he ducked into a shy smile, wrapping his legs in a criss-cross.

“Oh, come here,” Varric said, nudging his shoulder. Cole blinked at him, but got down and Varric buried him in a hug. Cole stood fixed and slowly wrapped his arms around Varric’s back.

Not little. Not blood. Not normal.

Perfect.

Just like the rest of his family.


	21. icy winds - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Icy winds and dreams that linger, running, feeling, falling "Somehow, I knew"
> 
> Warnings: depictions of pain, mild anxiety

He isn’t with her when it happens.

He is with a scouting group, examining the condition of the Veil in an area around Crestwood. A simple task. The Veil is already weakened in the area, so tears that had been caused by the rifts had not been able to be cleanly patched by Naya. There is still a slight disturbance, enough to alarm.

He had just awoken, having solved the trouble. It was a simple matter of disparaged spirits being drawn to the cracks and being unable to leave. He is lucky they had not been corrupted by the experience. It took only a few moments of magic at the areas of interest before the spirits could roam free.

“Ser, Ser!” yells a young man, running into the camp. His eyes search the camp wildly before landing on Solas and relaxing. The man rushes to him and hands him a rolled piece of parchment. “It’s from Sister Nightengale.”

The remaining fatigue shakes off of him and he takes the paper from the boy. The signet is familiar, but the shade—

Red wax.

He stops short and with quick fingers he tears open the seal and unrolls the parchment, breathing thanks to the runner. He devours the words, and his feet carry him away from the curious glances in the main camp.

_It’s the Mark. Come quickly— I have arranged transport…_

The rest is details. Nothing significant. Nothing to tell him about her.

His breath hitches. She had been able to keep it stable for this long— There was no reason why it would flare now. What had set it off? He couldn’t— He wouldn’t be able to—

His knees weaken, almost buckling. He steadies himself against a nearby tree and puts his head to the smooth bark. He shuts his eyes.

It could have passed already. Perhaps a momentary flare, he reasons. Nothing to warrant this level of concern, but Leliana is not one to risk divulging unnecessary information. If it were serious, or even not, their enemies could exploit this to their advantage. Even this little was dangerous. He presses his head harder against the tree.

It does not help.

The back of his eyes burn with tears and a small voice, long repressed, whispers accusations at him. All are true.

He clenches his jaw and ignores them, pushing them out of his thoughts. Tears threaten again, but he will not allow them to fall. Not now.

She needs him.

He takes a calming breath. None of the scouts could be alarmed, his sudden absence was probably too worrying already. Rumors had spread through the Inquisition, he knows. Now, how would this look? A message with a red seal, the Inquisitor’s lover in tears, a hasty ride to Skyhold? No. He needs to look composed.

He walks into the camp and looks through the scouts, finding the head scout not present. She probably went with the party that just went out, still monitoring the almost-rifts. The rest of the camp goes about their duties with a more dedicated air with his presence.

He finds one of the older scouts and clears his throat, gaining her attention. Solas relays what he needs, and she nods and runs off to do as told.

It is a half an hour before he is riding, set on the marsh roads leading out of New Crestwood. The gelding is ruffled by the sudden departure, strange new rider and his pace, but he does an admirable job of keeping a steady gallop.

He makes it to the town Leliana’s agent specified just after dusk, but still a bearded man outside the stables is there waiting to take his horse. Solas pats the gelding on the neck, just before the man takes him.

“Ma serranas, lethallan,” he murmurs.

If the man hears, he says nothing and goes inside the small building. Solas contents himself with looking at the night sky, but cannot stop himself from tapping his foot. Every moment, every second he dallied was another second she could be—

He exhales sharply. He had been able to avoid playing scenarios in his head most of the journey, but now in the quiet and the absolute stillness of the dark, it is all his mind conjures.

The man returns and Solas starts, but he does not bring another horse with him. Solas opens his mouth to ask, but the man interrupts him.

“Nightengale ordered rest,” he said. “4 hours.”

Fair enough. His eyelids were already drooping.

He nods his assent and the man grabs the candle that he had been holding to light his way and guides Solas to an stall in the barn, furnished with the necessities of an inn room.

The man sets down the on the small table in the far corner of the room and tells Solas he will wake him, if needed. He declines. The man nods and leaves without a further comment.

He immediately slides under the covers, the blankets surprisingly warm. It takes him only moments for his eyes to flutter shut.

He isn’t interested in visiting with spirits today, but he does what he can to seek out those of an amicable nature. There was only one of note that he can find, and it is already becoming infected with the sickening growth of corruption.

Purpose is drawn to him, however the desperation in Solas’s bearing does not help with the darkness creeping along its form. He does his best to calm himself, finding a peaceful sense of altruism inside him before speaking.

“Adaran atish’an, Purpose,” he says. “I’ve come to ask a favor.”

“And why should you beseech a humble spirit, Dread Wolf?” it says, sending a slight ripple of wariness.

“I have a purpose for my journey,” Solas says. “I would only ask you to help me know it.”

The spirit considers, the wariness that hovers around him as a fog not abating. The moment grows so long that Solas is tempted to go seek out another spirit, even if there is little chance of finding one obliging. He almost does, but Purpose speaks before he can come to a decision.

“I will help you, Dread Wolf,” it says, but Solas knows what comes next. “But you must help me with a purpose of my own.”

“Tell me of it.”

“You’ve met the man who is called Romero,” it says. “Though I don’t believe you learned his name as such. He is now thickly bearded and grey at the temples.”

Ah, the guide to his unusual bedroom. Yes, the spirit is probably tasked with watching over him, or those who keep this area of land.

“Yes,” Solas says. “What would you like me to do?”

The spirit flares with energy, and Solas backs away. It’s nature was at war with itself. With Solas’s question, corruption wormed its way further, causing this nova of energy. This battle would decide the spirit’s fate, and whether it was to become a demon. This would take only seconds.

Solas inhales through his nose and fills his mind with _purpose_.

Picking up broken glass of a cup that a maid had accidentally dropped. Healing the pains of an elderly woman’s joints. Traveling on the countryside, through swamps and forests to arrive at desolate places, which later bloom into beautiful, little towns.

His mind helpfully inserts Naya into the moments and he falters for a moment, but quickly pushes her out, keeping careful hold of good, of satisfaction of a job well done and of comfort. He needs this. He needs to know.

She needs him.

He opens his eyes to find the spirit— and a spirit still it was— staring curiously at him.

“Your main purpose is a mystery, Dread Wolf,” it says. “However, one must know that purpose is not always found in places of great risk or reward.”

“And is it risk or reward that you would offer to Romero?” he asks.

The spirit doesn’t speak for a moment, considering his words.

“Reward,” it says. “The man has suffered through more than his share of toil for the land on which you slumber. When you return to your Inquisition, you must grant him a boon.”

“Any specifications concerning the boon?” Solas asks. He had already learned this lesson regarding deals with spirits.

“Only that it must be something he truly desires,” it says.

“If it is within my power, he will have it,” Solas promises. A small price for what Solas was asking. “Now, for my favor.”

The spirit nods its head.

Solas lays out what the instructions, and the spirit goes on its way. Solas mills about the area, willing his mind not to stray.

It is an hour before Purpose returns and sets about gathering wisps for its task. Solas taps his foot as the wisps go into place at Purpose’s direction and a scene unravels before his eyes.

Naya appears first, sharp as if she were truly before him, beside Iron Bull. They are on Skyhold’s battlements, braced side by side, each with one hand touching the stone. The icy winds brush at his cheeks, as if he were really on the mountain.

Cole sits cross-legged on one of the rivets and Varric stands on the steps across from him, trying to get Cole to get down. Dorian leans against the wall of the building, playing with an orb of water.

“ _One girl did beat a Charger,_ ” Naya sings, grinning. “ _The biggest of them too, just ‘cause she knew to walk in a straight line through and through!_ ”

Solas chuckles despite himself. He had no doubt that she had been waiting to use that line for sometime.

“Only if you run as quick as your mouth does,” Bull mutters, digging his heel into the stone behind him. He flicks his head at Dorian. “Ready when you are, kadan.”

“Runners, on your mark,” Dorian says, dropping his ball and walking to be behind them. “Get set— go!”

They sprint, Naya brushing by Cole’s leg. She gets a lead on Bull on the beginning, but the lumbering man was just getting up to speed. By the middle, they are neck-in-neck.

“Don’t worry,” Bull huffs. “There’s no shame in being outmatched by a Ben-Hassrath.”

Naya doesn’t reply, eyes ahead on toward Sera. She pulls ahead for a moment, mess of hair and braids whipping behind her, with a triumphant smile on her face.

“I don’t think—” Naya says, then trips, stumbling to the ground. Bull skids to a stop before her, just missing trampling her.

The mark flares, bathing the stonework in familiar green. She sits up and leans against the wall, clutching her hand to her chest and uses her other to get her hair out of her face. She heaves a sob, stretching her marked hand out as it pulses.

Solas steps forward, reaching to help, only to slide right through the illusion of her shoulder. A tear falls down her cheek and his heart demands him to fix it.

 _Your fault_ , the voice whispers.

“Naya!” Bull says, kneeling down in front of her, hands hesitant in the air. “Dorian!”

All are at her side in a moment, but she is only getting worse. She shuts her eyes, making more tears fall and, as a healer, he knows cries of pain aren’t far behind.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he whispers, clenching his fists. But there is nothing he can do. This is past, only a ghost of a memory.

He watches as Dorian attempts to assuage some of the power, only to agitate it further, making her shake and hang her head under the weight. If he were there, this moment would’ve been bygone in an instant, worrisome, but over. Instead, he watches as Sera runs to go get help and Naya crumples onto the floor.

No, no, no nonono—

Solas watches in fixed horror as Dorian leans down and checks her breathing. The rest of the gathered stand stock still as Dorian listens, his skin unusually pale.

He comes up and nods once, and sags back. The mark still flashes, though it is duller than before.

“Can we move her?” Bull asks.

Dorian opens his mouth, frustrated sounds matching his shaking hands, until he sighs and raises his hands and lets them fall in something that equates to _I don’t know_.

There are echoes of rushed footsteps and Cassandra’s voice yelling orders following close behind.

The faces of his friends begin to fuzz, the mountains in the distance melting into a sickening green. Several, now indistinct figures, hasten to Naya’s side, all hesitating, unsure what to do. The figures, the battlements all slowly ebbing until he is left with all green.

Her face is the last to fade.

He blinks and he looks to see Purpose standing above him. It offers a semblance of hands to help him stand.

“Thank you,” Solas says, though the back of his eyes burn with what he saw. What he had asked to see.

“I expect payment in full,” it says, wariness unabated since it last spoke, except this time it was laced with something else, something uncomfortable… Pity.

“And I promise to honor your terms,” he replies.

“Then be on your way,” it says, turning it’s attention to the wandering wisps then snaps back to him. “Dawn approaches, Dread Wolf.”

He awakes in a cold sweat. The woolen blankets had been tossed off of him in the night, landing on the floor in a heap. He rubs his arm and sits up. He takes no extra steps to get ready, not even bothering with the slight hairs on his head before stepping out the door, pack in hand.

Romero is there, sitting by the stables, glazed look on his face. At Solas’s footsteps, he starts and stands up, muttering something about horse and ready.

He returns in a few extended moments, a dark brown filly’s reins in hand. He exchanges them for Solas’ pack and situates it on the saddle.

Romero raises his hand in a single wave and Solas takes his leave to begin riding.

The sun is rising as he begins his ride and it peaks as he reaches the way point Leliana described. He is given a bowl of ill-defined lumps in a watery broth, but it is hot and he does not have the time to search out other fare. He downs it as best he can and is given a new horse, a black stallion with little attention for it’s human handlers or himself and is on his way.

The horse gallops at a brisk pace, only slowing when they reach the higher altitudes, whinnying at the snow landing on it’s coat. However, with some prompting from Solas, it continues begrudgingly on its way.

It is much past nightfall when they reach Skyhold’s gates, but they are already being drawn up as he arrives. He urges the horse to go faster.

Tension is rising in his chest as he passes into Skyhold’s commons. He slides off the horses back and hands the reins to a bleary-eyed scout. Leliana stands at the top of the stairs leading to the entrance to the upper entrance. Solas runs to her, stomach dropping as he sees the bruises under her eyes darker than he’d seen them any time since Haven.

“She is in her chambers—” But he is gone too quickly to hear the rest.

The stress and the anxiety and the worry had built up like a current over the past days, the little food and sleep not helping the settlings of his mind. He had avoided dreams, but his waking mind would not stop tormenting him with the image of her crumpling to the ground, unconscious and in unspeakable pain.

He barrels past scout and maid alike in the dark hour, and sprints through the main hall, footsteps rattling against his mind. What if she was— What if he couldn’t—

He swings open the door leading to her quarters and furiously climbs the steps, the back of his throat burning as he reaches the last, but he cannot stop and doesn’t until he bursts through the door to her chambers.

Beside her bed, obscuring her from view is Dorian on a short stool, slumped over the covers, whispering words that stop short as Solas enters. The Tevinter straightens at once, beginning to say something, but Solas pays no heed, rounding the bed until he sees her face.

Her hair is ratted and splayed across the decadent pillows, but her face.

Oh, her _face_.

It is contorted in a twisted grimace, features he knows, he loves, all _wrong_.

He murmurs words of useless comfort, and strokes her a lock of hair from her face, then goes to inspect her hand.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he says, her hand crackling and much too hot.

_Your fault._

He takes her hand in his, ignoring the heat and closes his eyes. He takes the familiar magic and siphons it, leading it from her, who is so unaccustomed to magic to herself. He can sense her body’s rejection of it. There is a utter sense of wrongness of it within her, of expulsion, of _not right_ , and something fractures within him.

It isn’t long before the crackling dies down, leaving the mark to return to a faint glow. The warmth is there, but it is only natural, normal. Her breaths come slower now, and her face is not so pained.

Dorian leaves, telling Solas that he’ll inform the others. Solas takes his place on the stool, and takes her hand. He should stay the night with her, make sure that she is—

He awakes to fingertips brushing along the curve of his ears. He inhales sharply, but his chest only tightens further at what he sees.

She smiles at him from across the bed, eyes holding nights of lost sleep but warm as they take in him. Her hand moves from his ears to his eyebrows and the bridge of his nose, skirting over his lips.

She cups his cheek and he leans into the touch, desperate for her steadiness. The reality that she was okay.

“I thought— I thought you were—” he chokes out, and she shushes him, beckoning him closer, onto the bed.

His joints ache from the long-held position, but he complies more than willingly, climbing on the heavy covers to lay beside her.

He wraps an arm around her shoulders, and she tilts her head forward, letting their foreheads touch.

“I knew,” she whispers, voice hoarse, and it pains him. “Somehow, Solas. I knew you were coming. That I would be okay.”

He lets the tears fall and contents himself with her presence. Here. Alive. Unharmed.

_But for how much longer, Dread Wolf?_


	22. tangled - cullen x trev

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of: "we, the blankets and the pet have tangled into an irreversible knot on the couch and if no one comes save us this might be our end" 
> 
> Warnings: None.

“His name is Pebbles,” Cullen says, unable to keep the smile from his voice as well as he could his face. “He doesn’t bite. Well— He won’t bite you.”

Cullen lay on his back across the disheveled bed, half tucked under blankets as the dog scrounged around for a proper place to lay his head.

“Comforting,” she says, edging around the side of the bed, sitting as far as she could be angled from the beast. “And _Pebbles_?”

Cullen chuckles to himself. “Not my choice,” he says, leaning up and giving the dog a scratch between his ears. “I am just watching over it for a while before it finds a new home. Some of the soldiers ran into it on one of the recruiting campaigns through Fereldan. They named the dog.”

“It doesn’t have an owner?” she says, scooting a little closer. The thing was massive, much bigger than anything she had encountered in the Circle. Some rats got to be pretty big there, but that was extent of her relations with most types of animals until the Inquisition. Then, there were bears.

“None that we saw,” he says, stroking the dogs fur, making it set its head down on it’s paws. “It was alone.”

The mabari’s eyes dart to her, and take her in. She sits uncomfortably under the scrutiny, sensing that somehow the beast was sharper than she first thought. She figured the old Fereldan boasting about the intelligence of their war dogs, was just that. Boasting. But as those dark eyes glaze over her features, she couldn’t help but think that the boasting wasn’t all untrue.

The mabari sits up, stretches and the bed trembles as it pads over to her on the opposite side of the bed. She is frozen, unsure what to expect, but it just opens its mouth in a slobbery grin, showing a multitude of canine teeth. It approaches gleefully, and reaches up to her face and begins licking.

“Hey, now—Hey!” she says, but it is already finished with its sticky compliments, and is tugging at her sleeve. “I— Uh—”

Meanwhile Cullen is on the other side of the bed, beside himself with laughter. It comes out in bursts, intermixed with boyish snorts.

Aurelia leans forward to knock him on the leg, but Pebbles takes the advantage of her momentum to pull her across the bed and splay her diagonal, head landing on Cullen’s chest.

“Guess he likes you,” Cullen says, still laughing, making her head bump up and down with his bouts.

She rolls her eyes, but can’t stop her lips from curling. She is about to move, but Pebbles takes the moment to duck under her leg and lie his head comfortably on Cullen’s, and stretching his legs to rest on her calves. It is only moments before a slight snore can be heard.

“Oh, he’s got to be putting it on,” she said, leaning forward to inspect the dog, but for all intents and purposes, he looks asleep.

“No,” Cullen said, coughing on the last of his laughter. “Mabari are famous for being able to sleep anywhere. And quickly.”

“Andraste,” she mutters, but as the nudges her leg, all she gets is louder snoring.

She sighs, relaxing back on Cullen and closes her eyes. Might as well.

“Ah, Aurelia?” Cullen ventures, taking another look at Pebbles. “I think we’re going to be here a while.”

“Yeah, I’m not moving.”


	23. resolution - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> recommended listening : resolution by matt corby : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nj4q4rfDcNw 
> 
> "what should have been"
> 
> no warnings

“Mamae! Mamae!” chirps a voice from behind wood.

Naya yawns and stretches across the bed, shaking off a chill. The sheets are half off her body and she turns and leans up, but is quickly pulled back onto the bed. Kisses are scourged across her neck and cheek, while she laughs and swats the offender away.

She turns to meet Solas’s face, wrinkles around his eyes already in place from his antics. She rolls her eyes, but he meets her across the distance and kisses her much more soundly.

“On dhea, vhenan,” he murmurs, too close to be sure if it’s more apart of the kiss or separate words.

She smiles against his mouth and gives him a final kiss before separating.

“To you too, vhenan,” she says, and skirts away, not missing a final peck on the cheek. “But we have da’vhenan’s to get to.”

The cries had stopped, but a distinct clatter of something being broken could be heard from the other room, along with a small gasp.

“Indeed.”

She huffs a laugh and stands up, grabbing a lavish maroon robe, a gift of Josephine’s that lay on the chair beside their bed. She hastily puts it on, foregoing her prosthetic for the moment and opens the door, then looks behind her, seeing Solas doing the same and strides out into the chaos.

The first thing she sees is two little bodies standing side by side, obviously in an attempt to block the broken vase that skittered out behind them into the hallway.

She shook her head, anger furthest from her mind as she saw their faces.

“On dhea, da’len,” she says, willing her face to remain placid. “How tall you stand today!”

Solas approaches from behind her and gives her a questioning look, but she just shrugs.

“Umm, yes!” Lori says, rocking on her heels. “Just as Ma— Ma’asa Vivienne says we should. Ah— I think Cole is crying.”

She looks to Solas, but he is already off down the hall. She returns her attention to the girls before her, cheeks pinking with the attention. Shasa limps under the scrutiny, and and she writhes her hands fitfully.  

“Just being clumsy or not careful?” she says.

They both snap to attention, and Naya looks at them expectantly. They look at each other a moment, then back to her, stock still as they wait for her to speak.

“Well, you heard me. Was it clumsiness or were you fooling about?” she says.

“Clumsy,” Shasa says, looking up with her remorse that made her heart melt. “I— Well—”

“I bumped into it!” Lori blurts, looking to Shasa, then to Naya with an expression she recognized, one that somehow translated onto her young features. “My fault.”

_I wonder where she gets that from._

“Neither of you would’ve been in trouble,” she says, looking between the two, then to Lori. “But I don’t appreciate lying. Lori, you’ll have to wait on those sweet cherries tonight.”

“But Mamae!” Lori whines.

“No. But do you understand? The vase means nothing to me. But you are my everything,” she says. “Lying breaks people apart. I don’t want anything to come between us, da’vhenan. Okay?”

She nods and sniffs. Naya waves a hand to both of them, crouching down to hug them. She cradles their heads and gives them each a kiss on their foreheads.

“Now, go fetch some eggs from the pantry, maybe some meat if there is any and we’ll see if we can’t get some breakfast started,” she says, breaking the embrace. “Go on, now. Careful about the shards.”

On her right something babbles and she turns to see Solas holding Cole in the doorway, a distant look on his face. His eyes meet hers and focuses, and smiles softly, walking towards her.

“He requires something I cannot give,” he says, handing Cole over to her. She coaxes his fingers from his mouth and rubs his cheek.

“The girls are set about gathering stuff for a meal, if you would get that started,” she says, readjusting Cole on her arm and shushing his whimpers. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

He nods and starts down the hallway, she back to Cole’s room, when she remembers.

“Oh! Could you get the vase?” she calls, and just sees him wave over his shoulder and a tinge of green from his fingers.

She shoulders the door open and sets quickly to work, putting Cole in his crib as she shrugs off her robe. She pulls down her shirt, his crying making her fingers miss the loop.

She reaches back into the crib and murmurs soft assurances as she settles into the armchair and guides him to her chest. He finishes quickly head lolling back into her arm and he beams up at her.  

“Silly boy,” she teases, setting him up on her knee with care, pulling up her shirt and leaning him against her torso. She grabs a rag from the table to her right, throwing it over her shoulder.

She pats him on the back to get any air out of his system, and wipes at his mouth when he spits up. Once done, she tosses the dirty rag onto the table, she’ll put in in the wash later, and situates Cole into the crib and grabs her robe again.

Once ready, she scoops Cole back into her arms, earning her a giggle. She almost leans down, ready to bury her face in his tummy, but thinks better of it. She had already learned that lesson.

Nevertheless, his cheeks dimple as he watches her, big blue eyes squinted with joy. She plants a kiss on his cheek and earns another one of his laughs, making her chest blossom with warmth.

She opens the door out of Cole’s room and stops a few steps down the hall, hearing something.

Three voices mete out a familiar song, two high, one low. Elvhen. Old.

_Ah._

She joined in, evening out the pitch with her middle-toned lilt. She rounds the corner and catches Solas’s eye. She catches a hint of a smile, his eyes tender as he turns to Shasa, helping her keep the rhythm.

She lifts Cole and settles him into his chair, difficult with his wiggling. He had decided to join in on the singing. He batters against the legs refusing to go into the chair, his baby babble straining to match his sibling’s sounds.

“Solas?” she calls.

He is there in a moment, picking up Cole and situating him into his chair with a few touches.

The girls had continued the song, though they stumbled through the words. They looked to Solas and her, hopeful to continue.  

She didn’t think he needed much urging, but if there was any indecision, it is gone as he falls victim to their looks. He begins where they left off and brushes Cole’s fingers with his thumb before returning to beating the eggs.

She joins in again and sets the strips of meat in the hot pan, careful to avoid the hot spray of fat as they begin to sizzle.

Solas and her attend to preparing the meal, both singing, entertaining and cooking. Solas seamlessly blends songs, teaching words to the uninitiated, the girls looking up at their father with palpable interestedness.

Breakfast is ready in a manner of minutes and she bids the girls to get the dishes and utensils, and they scurry off to do as told.

Naya fills cups with water as the two girls swap words between each other, singing in turn to the new song they had learned as they give the plates to Solas. They go to their seats and only get louder, Cole banging on his own table eager to join in the noise in any form.

Naya serves serves up plates with the eggs and meat. Solas grabs flatbread from a basket on the counter and tears off a piece to add to each plate, grabbing the last plate as he tops it off and cups of water and heads toward the table.

She balances three plates, two balanced along her arm and Solas picks them up and distributes them along the table, and they begin eating.

“Papae, can you read us more of that book?” Lori asks, Shasa looking just as piqued by the question.

“As long as Mamae doesn’t mind,” he says, looking over to her with a glance, looking just as hopeful as the girls do.

“Of course,” she says, waving her hand. “Please, read.”

He stands and goes over to the top of the pie cabinet where a leather bound journal sits, grabs it and sits down. He flips to the right page using the ribbon and clears his throat.

“There was once a strong woman,” he says in Elvhen. “She stood taller than any of her sisters, and towered over her mother. She was strong and fast. Her name was Andruil, best of the hunters.”

He continues animatedly, and clarifies when either of the girls need help on words. Cole isn’t quite as interested in the literature, so she fetches a small figurine for him to handle. It inevitably ends up in his mouth, but it is much too big for her to be worried.

She has to remind them to eat, and they do so, admittedly more quickly than she might’ve liked, and return to the book.

She watches as he reads the last few paragraphs, stumbling on a few words, and she strokes his arm. He offers her a reassuring look and continues, silence thickening in the air as the last word hangs precariously.

The girls burst into a gaggle of questions and he smiles, and gets them to quiet down and answers them one by one.

She sits back in her chair, and watches her daughters and her bondmate, her son, here, okay, _happy_  and a part of her feels that, just a little— Just noticeable—

She is whole.


	24. sick - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for: “Don’t give me that look! It wasn’t my fault!”
> 
> No warnings apply!

As a healer himself, she really would’ve expected him to take it better.

“This is ridiculous,” he says, his ragged voice betraying him even as he speaks. “I’m quite fit.”

She opens her mouth to interject, but a glazed look comes over him for a moment before he is overcome in a fit of sneezing. She has to bite her cheek to keep herself from smiling, and Solas scowls at her as he recovers.

“Hey, I’m not the one who decided to clean out rooms that have been untouched for centuries,” she says, raising her hands in defense. “That, my love, was your idea.”

He hums an agreement and pulls his covers closer, while she reaches over to check his temperature— If he was feverish, she would fetch a healthy healer. Otherwise, he would have to wait it out. A small bug wouldn’t hurt him.

She had just begun to reach towards him when he starts.

“No!” he barks, then coughs. She hesitates, frozen in her seat, but he scoots back from her in the slightest and shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to infect you.”

She breathes, tension easing from her body and almost laughs. “Infect me? What do you have, Solas— the plague?”

“Is that possible?” he says, and for a moment she is truly worried.

“ _No,_ ” she says. “Now, if you would let me take your temperature, I can figure out if this is more serious.”

He relents, and as she lays a hand to his forehead, he closes his eyes. “I believe I may have a fever.”

“You think?” she says, and retracts her hand. “I’ll be back in a minute. Vivienne should be able to help break it.”

“Naya—” he says as she stands. She pauses, looking back at him.

“This won’t hurt you?” he says quietly, his brows knit in concern. She stops fully and gives him a reassuring smile.

“No, I’ve had many worse fits than what you are suffering,” she says. “Don’t worry.”

His eyes flicker into the distance and he grimaces, his gaze is only more anguished as it focuses back onto her. He nods at her, but she takes a moment watching him turn onto his back and close his eyes before she shuts the door and leaves.


	25. willing - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for: "We bared our throats for our god."
> 
> warnings: mentions of suicide, death

They welcomed it.

That was the worst part.

He had sheltered as many as he could, but there just wasn’t time. There wasn’t enough time to save another hundred— Another thousand. Elgar’nan had made sure of that.

He bid his last agents to go to the havens, and they did so without question, saluting and entering their separate eluvians with sure steps. His lieutenants, clad in gold armor, marching to their deaths, one by one.

He paused as the last one left. He could stay here. Break the eluvians.He could just… do nothing.

But he wouldn’t.

He turned on his heel and started towards the summit. There was only one more component needed for the task.

Himself.

Each of his step echoed through the empty halls, the finery hung uselessly on the walls. He had never wanted it in the first place. He wondered if it would burn.

He reached the top much too quickly. The bones had already been put in place. It was only a matter of constructing the body.

His hands would not stop trembling.

He checked each of the charms, the tools he had set in place for the spell and he found that everything was in its place.

He found his, in the center of the charms, in the center of the magic. He closed his eyes and raised his arms.

And _heaved_.

A slight whine grew loud in his ear, but it was only a backdrop to the real pain. He strained every muscle, every inch of himself that was capable of use hurt, bending to create this wrongness— This terrible, awful right— that rose before him. He bowed under the weight and screamed.

Voices, everything that he knew, that he lived in, exuded a sharp panic that flooded his body with unintelligible yells and confusion. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and his voice gave out, but he persisted, stupidly, horribly, hopelessly persisted.

It continued for longer than he knew, forcing him to his knees while his arms remained in the air. Thoughts became distant as the Fade fled from him, as strings were cut from a doll. He sagged and just as his body protested, about to give out, the magic asked a final thing from him.

He gave it without thinking, and fell onto the stone, his entire being twisting inside him. His eyes were shut but he did not sleep. He did not move. The magic almost finished, knitting itself together in its final stages. The panic of The People was gone, he could not longer sense it. He could feel nothing.

He wondered if he would die. Lying here in this now ravaged world, feeling nothing and blinking out like a soul sacrificed on the altars of Arlathan. A part of him wished for it.

Instead, he sensed a spirit touch his conscious, but he was too weak to resist its meddling, or wonder how it was there.

He blinked, and saw new surroundings.

“I heard him speak of this— A veil,” Jalasan said, looking up at the darkening sky. It was soon to close upon them, mere moments away. “I had never thought he would do it.”

There is a silence as a handful of his people, stand guard outside one of his havens. The doors have been shut against the oncoming storm, but nevertheless they stand tall.

“I do not think he did either,” another said softly.

They do not cry or look worried, they just stare into the distance.

They close their eyes and let the wave overcome them.

He blinked again and is returned to his body, just as he processes what he has seen. He lets out a broken sob, before he is plunged into darkness.


	26. happy - solavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt for: 
> 
> “no, when i said i wanted you to help clean the house i did NOT mean you should do it wearing only, exclusively stockings, you insolent FOOL” from the domestic prompts list, possibly followed up with “revenge” in the form of “we have guests over…do you really think it’s an appropriate time to affectionately grab my butt and kiss my neck… in front of the entire table….ok”. bonus points if the cleaning was FOR this planned get together."
> 
> warnings: none

Solas is next to the kitchen table, broom in hand, humming. She opens her mouth to greet him, but stops herself, taking in the sight for a moment longer. He hadn’t bothered to dress, and he stands bare-chested, with only stockings to cover his legs. They covered up legs and to his waist, but the material was… thin. She shakes her head, and chuckles softly.

“Dhea, love,” she says, and he looks over and his eyes light up at the sight of her and he puts the broom to the side.

She approaches and kisses him and he leans into her, his hands sliding across her arms and to her back to wrap her into an embrace. His touch is soft and sweet, a perfect accompaniment to the tranquil sound of bird calls and rustle of leaves heard from the world outside. She smiles into his mouth and only pulls away to look at him.

The morning light does him plenty of favors, and she picks out even more freckles scattered across his cheeks than she had last night. It makes something skip in her chest, and finds she doesn’t mind at all. She would just have to count them again.

“You are so beautiful,” he says, and it startles a laugh out of her.

“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” she says, brushing her thumb along his cheekbone.

It is this look, the one he dawns now, that she adores. Crestwood had been the first time she had really seen it. Perhaps, sifting through earlier moments, she could see hints of it. Yet, like any good thing, the pure, unadulterated version was unrivaled by another other sparse rendition.

She shakes her head and kisses him again, then lets her eyes travel down the length of his body.

“Too lazy for clothes today?” she says, and he looks down at himself, then raises his eyebrows.

“I didn’t think of it,” he admits.

“Well, I don’t mind,” she says, and relishes the look he gives her, then continues: “But Dorian might— Or, well— You might want to change for your sake, rather than his. He’d never let you hear the end of it.”

“Indeed,” he says, giving her a final peck on the cheek before going off toward where she had come.

She is starting on the whipped cream when Solas returns, in real clothes this time. He begins setting the table, grabbing glasses and plates out of the pie cabinet. She decides that he looks much too serious.

“Solas,” she says, gaining his attention, and she waves him over. He comes, and she tries not to smirk; he always seemed to catch her attempts at these things. “Is there something wrong with the cream? Or is it just me?”

He looks down into the bowl and inspects it for a moment, bending closer probably to smell it. Just as he looks up at her, a knowing, droll look on his face, she hits the end of the whisk, sending cream splattering across his face.

She bursts out laughing, and he shakes his head and grins, coming around the end of the island.

“A kiss, vhenan?” he says, and she shrieks, and runs away from him, but she gets a late start and his arms are very long.

He grabs her around the waist, and buries his nose in her cheek. She writhes in his grasp, but her laughing overcomes her efforts and he soon kisses the cream off.

She waves him away and wipes the remaining cream off her and throws the towel to Solas who takes it gladly.

“What was it you said? ‘A life of peace’?” he says, eyeing her with smile, and throwing the towel back on the rung where it belonged. “I do believe you lied.”

“ _Please,_ ” she says, taking up the whisk. “ _I_  am not the god of mischief.”

He sputters, and she grins, whisking faster.

He narrows his eyes at her, then sighs. “One could be confused,” he mutters, setting the table with new intent.

There is relative peace after that, and they make progress on their preparations. It would only be another hour or two until their guests arrived. She has beaten the eggs, seasoned the ham and sliced the plums, while Solas had prepared the spare room and tidied up the shared spaces. When the sweet rolls have risen enough to be baked, she slides them into the oven and steps back, exhaling.

Solas is to her right, rolling napkins and she wanders over to him and sits on lap, leaning her head back on his shoulders.

“Hello,” she says.

“Hello,” he says, and wraps his arms around her waist and lays his cheek into hers.

There is a knock at the door. “ _Hello?_ ”

She goes and opens the door to an almost comical entrance of their friends. They pile in and break at least two chairs (Both somehow Sera’s fault), though she had a suspicion that there was a third whose remains had just been hidden. They laugh, talk and listen to Varric make fun of them all using his new title for props.

Through the night Solas steals kisses and touches that linger, all while taking pains to disguise his affection. It is a game she is inclined to indulge. Though, as he had his second and third cup of wine, they become laughably terrible attempts. So much that Bull sloppily yells, ‘Kiss the goddamn girl, Solas!’. However, drunk Solas is somehow both extroverted and shy, he ends up blushing furiously, but eventually pulling Naya into his arms.

She is not quite sure where everyone ends up in the aftermath, and though her mind is spinning, and she is very certain she won’t remember it in the morning; she has a single thought.

_This is what was supposed to happen. Wasn’t it?_

She smiles to herself and passes out.


End file.
